


The Heart of a Star

by Halmaithor



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stardust Fusion, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Immortal Husbands Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Inspired by Stardust, M/M, Minor Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Star Alec Lightwood, Strangers to Lovers, Warlock Asmodeus, Warlock Magnus Bane, characters are in order of their first significant appearance, other characters (including minor ocs) will turn up but these are the most important ones, same with the relationships - there are more but these are the most important/noticeable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halmaithor/pseuds/Halmaithor
Summary: ‘What’s that?’He startles at the noise, turning with a glare to its source. The boy drops his head, mumbling an apology, and Asmodeus gives a sigh. ‘This, my son, is the heart of a fallen star.’‘A fallen star?’ The boy keeps his head bowed respectfully, but golden eyes so like Asmodeus’ own flick upwards, unable to fully contain his excitement.Years after escaping to the town of Wall, a heartbroken Magnus Bane chases after a falling star, and ends up on an unlikely adventure.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Maia Roberts, Magnus Bane & Ragnor Fell, Magnus Bane & Raphael Santiago, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, background Alec Lightwood & Isabelle Lightwood & Jace Wayland, background Catarina Loss/Dorothea "Dot" Rollins - Relationship, background Clary Fray/Maia Roberts - Relationship, unrequited Magnus Bane/Camille Belcourt
Comments: 146
Kudos: 134





	1. Fire and Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again. ^^ After months of on-and-off work on this fic, I'm delighted to announce that it is finally FINISHED and so I will now be starting to upload it. The plan is to upload a chapter a day over eleven days, and the whole fic will end up about 45k long*. You don't need to have read/watched Stardust to understand it, the plot varies slightly anyway and (if I've done my job right, lol) it should be clear just from this story itself.   
> *Edit: as you can see it ended up about 50k instead aha. 
> 
> Huge thanks to [ralf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralf/pseuds/ralf), [Hika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulWarlock), and [Cube](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuubism/pseuds/cuubism), who've been supporting me along the way, listening to me ramble about this fic and acting as a willing audience when patience deserted me and I needed someone to read at least a _snippet_ of this beast XD 
> 
> Finally, an honourable mention to [THIS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8032729/chapters/18394960) Perc'ahlia fic, also based on Stardust. I didn't base this fic on that one, but it was probably kicking around in my subconscious when I came up with this idea, so worth a mention aha. 
> 
> On to the fic. I hope that you enjoy it. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Additional warnings for this chapter: minor implication of an arranged/forced marriage, and slight overtones of abusive parenting.)

Our story begins in a place with no stars.

Asmodeus does not care for the starlight. The sun may be useful, on occasion – bright, fierce, and powerful. Fire such as that has its uses, even to those who dwell in darkness.  
But the stars are too small, have not enough light to harness and warp, and only serve the purpose of revealing that which would prefer to hide in the still night. And so he glamours the sky above his fortress and his grounds, hides from the night’s watchful eyes, and works his will in privacy.

That glamour is why, one day, the question finds him. ‘What’s that?’  
He startles at the noise, turning with a glare to its source. The boy drops his head, mumbling an apology, and Asmodeus gives a sigh. ‘This, my son, is the heart of a fallen star.’

‘A fallen star?’ The boy keeps his head bowed respectfully, but golden eyes so like Asmodeus’ own flick upwards, unable to fully contain his excitement.  
Asmodeus stifles another sigh. Perhaps he ought to have given greater thought to the option of raising the child himself. At the time, it seemed foolish – why should he craft his weapon, when he could simply devote himself to his own work and wait to wield it? For what else did the boy have a mother?  
Now, of course, he realises his mistake. His son – the only heir to his powers, after so many women failed him – has his eyes and his features, but he has inherited his mother’s soft, curious heart.  
Asmodeus realised, of course. And the moment he did, he sent the woman away, sparing her only in gratitude for doing what the others could not. It has been three weeks, and from the way that the boy has hidden away in grief all that time, Asmodeus had started to fear that his realisation came almost a decade too late.

‘It’s beautiful,’ the boy murmurs, staring at the light in Asmodeus’ hands. ‘What is it for?’  
In answer, Asmodeus breaks the star-heart in two as he would break bread, and swallows the smaller piece. ‘To slow the ravages of time, and to make me strong,’ he tells the boy. ‘To make you strong, too, one day.’

His gaze turns sharp. ‘But only if you study well. Too long have you wept in your chambers. I believe you have some catching up to do.’  
The boy mumbles something that sounds like _yes, sir,_ and scurries towards the door.

Asmodeus smirks. The boy has a long way to go, softened as he is by years of his mother’s coddling. But for a warlock such as himself, it should be no challenge to redirect the spirit of a soul not even ten years old.  
Self-assured, he locks away the rest of the star-heart, and turns back to his work, feeling the life pump ever stronger through his veins.

  
***

  
Magnus does not return to his studies, but instead opens up the small carry-case beneath his bed – the one thing his mother was permitted to bring with her when she came here, filled then with the items now gathering dust in her bedchamber. His hands shake, but he scans the present contents with determination, then wraps the coins he lifted from his father’s study safely in one of his socks. Their noise successfully muffled, he buries them in the very centre of his possessions, and fastens the carry-case shut.

His mother was his entire world, and his only gateway to one outside of the fortress. She would whisper stories in the night, tell him of forests taller than the towers of their home, of endless stretches of water called _oceans –_ and of the stars. _They light the sky like fire and diamonds,_ she would say, _and if you are kind, and brave, they will watch over you.  
Am I kind, mama?  
_On the night he asked her that, she pulled him close, laid his head against her shoulder. _Yes, Magnus,_ she said, her voice quiet, but firm. _My ancestors –_ your _ancestors – have always taught kindness to their children. Your father is not a kind man, Magnus, but you are not him. You are a Bane, like me, and like your family before you._

Magnus thinks back, now, to the parcel of light in his father’s hands. The very core of a precious, protective entity. How it extinguished on his father’s tongue, dying out of its beauty and into nothingness.  
His mother is gone, now, and after two weeks of grieving and one of planning, he will no longer let this fortress be his only world.

He waits for the candles in the hallway to flicker out, his father’s magic muted as he rests for the night. And then Magnus runs.

He knows the catacombs like the back of his hand, knows which cells are occupied and how to avoid them, and that is _crucial_ because he must not be seen. He has learned from experience that the prisoners often become informants for his father, in a futile attempt to save their own skins.  
Eventually, Magnus comes to what he’s looking for – a caved-in section of tunnel, a draught carving through nicks and crannies of the rock. He takes a deep breath, slinging the carry-case’s longest strap over his shoulder and raising both hands. He’s never done this before, never dared use this much magic at once, but his hands stay steady now as he draws a circle in mid-air.

A shimmering doorway appears before him, and he throws himself through it before it can close.

He lands sprawled on the other side, dizzy from the drain on his magic. But that cold air is stronger, now, and he slaps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud – because he’s done it. He’s past the rocks, past the edges of his father’s grounds. He’s free.

He gets to his feet again and runs as fast as he can, pausing for only a moment to gape upwards at the sky. _Like diamonds,_ his mother said, and she was right except that these are far more beautiful.  
Magnus runs for hours on end, until he reaches the woods on the horizon, and then he keeps running through the trees. And not for a moment is he afraid – because his mother taught him to be kind, and in his sadness he has become defiant and brave. He knows that the stars will watch over him now.

***

  
It’s not the worst storm Ragnor has seen in all his decades running the Green Ram, but it’s damned close. He closed the shutters to the windows hours ago, fearing for the long-worn glass and lead. He’s already checked on all three of his guests, making sure their rooms are warm enough and that there aren’t any leaks.

He glances at the clock; it’s fast approaching midnight now, and so he gets up and locks away his takings for the day, as well as his records.  
He heads over to lock the door – and then stumbles back in surprise as someone comes barrelling through it.  
‘Evening, Ragnor,’ Jeffery says. ‘Sorry to barge in on you like this, but you appear to have a customer. Says he needs a room for the night.’  
Ragnor looks down, smiling when he sees a mop of dark hair peeping out from behind the guard’s hip. ‘Oh, does he indeed?’ he says airily. ‘Well, thank you very much for looking out for my business, Jeffery. I’ll take it from here.’ Jeffery nods, giving the boy a quick clap on the shoulder – one that nearly bowls him over, the poor lad – before he leaves, the sounds of the storm shut out once more as he closes the door behind him.

Ragnor locks it, and then turns back to the boy. ‘So,’ he says. ‘I understand you need a room?’  
‘Yes please, sir. I have money,’ the boy says, still staring at the ground. His voice is shaking, likely because of the cold – he’s a skinny little thing, not built to be out walking through such weather as this.  
‘I see,’ Ragnor says. He smiles gently. He doesn’t have a lot of patience, as a rule, but he’s never seen the point of being disagreeable with children. Especially not when they’re this polite. ‘What’s your name?’  
‘Magnus Bane.’  
Ragnor sticks a hand out, and it’s met with a tiny, cold clasp in return. ‘Ragnor Fell. If I may ask, Magnus – where is your mother?’  
There’s a hesitation, and a slight hiccup to the boy’s voice when he says, _‘Gone.’_  
Ragnor’s heart twists in sympathy. ‘I see. What about your father?’  
‘He’s the _reason,’_ Magnus whispers – and the dam seems to break. ‘He sent her away.’ His shoulders start to shake, and he gasps in shallow, sobbing breaths. ‘There’s no-one now. I’m alone.’

Ragnor damn near starts crying himself – whatever this boy’s been through, it must have been horrific – but he stays calm and kneels down, gently gripping Magnus’ shoulders. ‘No, Magnus. You’re not. Wherever you’ve come from, whatever happened to you – you’re in Wall now, and the people here are kind. We don’t turn anyone away.’ He smiles, ducking his head a little further in an effort to catch the boy’s eyes. ‘You don’t have to be alone anymore. I promise.’

Magnus looks up at him then, and Ragnor’s breath catches. _Ah._ So this is not an ordinary little boy who has wandered into his inn.  
It’s a wonder Jeffery didn’t notice those eyes when he was leading Magnus here, even in the darkness of the storm. Good thing, too – Wall is, as he said, a friendly town, but it has its limits. Most people around here don’t take kindly to warlocks; even small, half-drowned ones with good manners and grief beyond their years.

He shakes himself. One problem at a time. The boy’s clearly exhausted, and probably hasn’t eaten anything of substance in a couple of days, given the way he’s pushing his tiny fist against his stomach; he’s probably trying to be subtle, but he’s in obvious pain with it. He needs a change of clothes, a warm bath, a hot meal, and a good night’s rest. Everything else is something they can figure out in the morning.  
‘Come on,’ he coaxes, leading Magnus up the stairs to the nearest available room. ‘Let’s get you warmed up.’

  
***

  
For the first time in days, Magnus wakes up warm. He opens his eyes, squinting in the daylight at the unfamiliar room – and then remembering with a smile. Mr. Fell gave him a room, somewhere safe and dry to sleep, and the promise of a real breakfast in the morning, instead of the squished berries and stale bread from his carry-case. He hopes he has enough coins left to pay for all of this.

He’s distracted, then, by the rumbling of his stomach. He gets up and looks over by the fireplace – his clothes are dry, now, but they’re still filthy; they’re caked in the mud he hadn’t managed to avoid when he portalled across that nearby wall, the one that was too high to climb. Magnus bites his lip. It’s improper to go downstairs in his pyjamas, but they’re warm and clean and Mr. Fell probably wouldn’t like him to track dirt everywhere anyway.  
Hoping he’s made the right decision, he tiptoes down the stairs.

Mr. Fell is sitting behind the desk, writing. Magnus waits at the bottom of the stairs, not wanting to interrupt.  
Unfortunately, his lungs have other ideas, and a moment later he finds himself coughing.

Mr. Fell looks up, and – _smiles_ at him, apparently not caring that he’s been interrupted. ‘Magnus! Good morning. I was just about to come and check on you. How did you sleep?’  
‘Very well, thank you, sir.’  
‘Oh, there’s no need to call me ‘sir’, Magnus. Ragnor is fine.’  
‘Okay. Ragnor.’

Ragnor gets up from behind his desk, walking over and taking a look at Magnus more closely. ‘I’ve asked one of the housekeepers, Lauriane, to try and find you some proper clothes,’ he says, ‘so you’ve got something besides pyjamas to wear until she can wash your old ones. In the meantime, how about that breakfast?’  
‘Yes please,’ says Magnus. His stomach gives a growl, as if in agreement.  
Ragnor laughs. ‘Sounds like you need it. Come on, then – we’ll eat in the kitchen. I hope you like scrambled eggs.’

  
A short while later, Magnus is sitting at the kitchen table, swinging his legs where they don’t _quite_ touch the ground, and drinking a cup of apple juice. Ragnor walks over with two plates, each full of eggs and mushrooms and sausage, and Magnus’ eyes widen. This is even better than the small bowl of stew he had for dinner last night.  
‘Well, go on,’ Ragnor says. ‘You must be hungry. I know I am.’ He tucks into his own food, and Magnus follows suit, grinning around each mouthful because it’s _delicious._

‘Magnus,’ Ragnor says softly. ‘It’s all right if you don’t want to talk about it… but I’d like to know more about where you came from. And why you’re here now.’  
Magnus looks up from his food, knowing it’s rude to stare but not quite able to help it.  
Ragnor looks back at him with a little smile. ‘It’s up to you, of course. But in my experience, talking usually helps.’  
Magnus stares a moment longer – and then decides, nodding slowly. ‘Okay,’ he says. Ragnor’s been kind to him, and if Magnus is going to trust anyone, he seems like a good choice.

  
***

  
By the time Magnus has finished speaking, they’ve long finished their breakfasts as well, and Ragnor’s wizened old heart has been thoroughly torn in two. ‘Well,’ he says finally, keeping his voice as mild as he can. ‘That’s quite the story, my intrepid young friend.’ This poor boy. Thank the gods for his mother – who knows what kind of little monster this _Asmodeus_ would have twisted him into without her kindness. And then, to lose her at such a young age, to have the only person who’s ever _cared_ about him torn away…

Ragnor’s daze ends abruptly as Magnus coughs again. ‘Hm,’ he says, frowning. ‘Magnus, is it all right if I check your temperature?’  
The boy nods, and Ragnor leans over the table, resting the back of his hand against his forehead. It’s a little warm for his liking, but not truly feverish. Still, any cough in one so young is not to be trifled with. ‘I think you may have caught a cold, being out in the storm,’ he says gently, clearing away the plates to be washed up later. Ordinarily, he’d do that himself, but he hopes that Bertha will understand, given the circumstances. ‘Why don’t you stay here at the Ram for a little longer, at least until you’re well again?’ And in the meantime, Ragnor can get word to his contacts across the wall, see if any of them have heard of a woman travelling alone from Edom –

He realises that Magnus has frozen, looking up at him in fear. ‘I don’t – I don’t have a lot of money,’ he explains hesitantly. ‘I don’t think I can afford to stay here another night.’  
Ragnor swallows hard, gently placing a hand on Magnus’ shoulder. ‘Magnus, I told you – Wall-folk don’t turn anyone away,’ he says softly. ‘Don’t worry about the money.’  
The boy frowns, and it looks too old on his face. ‘Nothing in life is free,’ he says, a little stilted.

Ragnor draws back, recalculating. If he had to guess, he’d say that’s a direct quote from dear old Asmodeus – a man he is finding increasingly loathsome, especially for someone he’s never met – and if that’s the kind of lesson he was being taught, it’s a wonder Magnus has accepted as much hospitality as he already has, which means that Ragnor needs a new approach. The last thing he needs is for the boy to get suspicious and bolt.

He sits back down, steepling his fingers. ‘Fair enough,’ he says. ‘In which case, how about this; stay until you’re better, and then instead of coin, you can pay for those nights – and any other nights you may need – by helping me out. I could always use help with errands.’  
Magnus watches him, and Ragnor’s relieved to see the mistrust fade. ‘How long can I stay here if I help?’ he asks quietly.  
Ragnor meets the boy’s gaze, serious. ‘As long as you want,’ he says.

He holds his breath – but then a smile creeps across Magnus’ face. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Okay. Thank you, Ragnor.’  
‘You’re most welcome,’ Ragnor says, relieved. ‘Now, I think you ought to go back upstairs. You need your rest if you’re to recover quickly.’  
Magnus nods, and drops off of his chair, quietly making his way out of the kitchen.

Ragnor stands in the kitchen doorway and watches him climb the stairs, letting himself smile again. There’s still the issue of the boy being a warlock, of course. Not to mention the fact that Asmodeus could well be on his trail, seeking his lost heir.  
But right now, Ragnor can’t seem to care about any of that. Strange, how calm one can feel – even in the face of certain trouble and likely danger – if one has the courage of their convictions. 


	2. More Heart than Brain - Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eighteen years later, Magnus runs the Green Ram, and tomorrow is the Summer Festival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> N.B.: this chapter deals mildly with abuse and discrimination. See the end notes for more comprehensive warnings.

_Eighteen years later_

Magnus is woken by the cuckoo clock across from his bed. He groans, stretching as he gathers his awareness. It’s a little dim, this morning, barely any light making its way through the thin curtains strongly enough to bounce off the shinier trinkets that line the walls.

He tumbles out of bed, stretching fully, standing on his tiptoes and letting his fingertips brush the ceiling. He makes the bed, blinking his eye-glamour into place.

It was the first thing Ragnor taught him, when he started to help out at the inn as a boy. _Now, your magic – can you hide your eyes, make them a darker colour?_ he asked. _There, that’s the ticket. There’s nothing wrong with the gold, of course; they’re very striking, in fact. But unfortunately, not everyone’s been around as long as I have, and some of them are afraid of magic. You’ll be safer this way._

Bed made, Magnus washes his face, brushes his teeth, and dresses in his most comfortable clothes (though, naturally, he’s aware that he’s still dressed more smartly than the average man in a so-called ‘casual’ outfit. He has his standards, after all). The inn is fairly full, what with the Summer Festival right around the corner, and so it promises to be a long day. He’ll need the comfort if he’s to make it to the end without snapping at people.

He heads downstairs to the kitchen, fingertips idly brushing the frames of the paintings he hung ten years ago. Ragnor had become something of a collector in his later years, and would often return from a trip to the market or auction house with a bundle of ‘treasures’. Most of them were kept in his room – Magnus’ room, now – to prevent any light-fingered guests from making an ill-gotten profit off of their stay. But the paintings were hung all around the inn; these ones, along the stairs, were landscapes by a local artist, who in the time since painting them had apparently since travelled across the ocean and made his fortune. _They’re cultural history,_ Ragnor announced proudly, watching as Magnus hung them. _See that, my boy? The place looks cheerier already.  
_ Magnus glances up at the paintings with a sad smile. Gods, he misses that eccentric old fool. His heart was always so much bigger than his brain, and that remains the best quality Magnus has ever known in a person.

In the kitchen, Raphael is carving up a joint of bacon, having already cracked the eggs he’ll need into a large bowl and whisked them to perfection. ‘Pantry, on the left,’ he says without looking up.   
Magnus chuckles. ‘And good morning to you to,’ he snarks, leaning into the pantry and grabbing the large bread roll filled with strawberry jam – his usual breakfast on the busiest days. ‘Oh, Raphael – I’d like you to cook the chicken for dinner service tonight, rather than the lamb.’   
‘Hm. I bet I can guess why,’ Raphael grumbles.   
‘Yes, you old grouch,’ Magnus says, rolling his eyes. ‘Camille mentioned that she might be available to stop by for dinner this week.’   
‘A dinner that she’ll be paying for?’   
Magnus scowls. ‘You know the answer is no. As long as I’m courting her, she doesn’t pay for dinner in my establishment.’   
‘I agree that those two things are linked,’ Raphael mutters, cutting the bacon into more manageable strips. ‘I maintain, however, that it’s not the way round you think it is.’   
‘And _I_ maintain that you are a cynical fool who has forgotten how to believe in love, and that any other boss would have fired you by now for your tongue being sharper than your paring knife,’ Magnus says airily.

Raphael sighs, apparently relenting. Both of them know the threat is empty, given their long friendship. However, that same friendship means that they’ve long since learned that when one of them is truly set on an opinion, no amount of stubbornness from the other will change it.   
He turns to Magnus with a smirk. ‘I know that. How else do you think I ended up working in this dump?’   
Magnus grins back at him. ‘I’m heading into town after breakfast – Mrs. Nicholls in room four has broken her comb, and I offered to pick her up a new one from the Roberts’. Do you need anything?’   
‘Dried sage, some early apples if they have any, and a ten percent pay raise.’   
‘Done, done, and no way in hell,’ Magnus says, leaving the kitchen with a laugh and biting into his roll.   
‘Worth a shot!’ Raphael calls after him.

Magnus walks over to the front desk, where Elias has now appeared, and is reviewing the guest entries for the day. ‘Good morning,’ Magnus says, leaning against the desk. ‘Any changes today?’   
Elias shakes his head. ‘No, this is it now. I’m pretty sure everyone’s here for the Summer Festival, so they won’t be checking out for at least another three days, most likely.’   
Magnus nods. The festival’s tomorrow, and – as he knows from experience – the day after that is reserved for nursing hangovers and trudging through the main green’s upper field, hoping to find the hat that you were _sure_ you were wearing up until that fourth drink. ‘I’m heading into town after the breakfast rush. Any requests?’ He pops the last piece of jam roll into his mouth.   
‘Could you possibly pick me up a new toothbrush?’ Elias asks, handing Magnus a few coins. ‘The bristles have almost completely fallen out of mine, and I haven’t had a spare moment to replace it.’   
‘Of course,’ Magnus assures him, pocketing a couple of the coins and handing back the third. ‘I’m heading to the Roberts’ anyway. Now, go get some breakfast, hm? The guests will start coming down soon, I’m sure.’

  
The morning proves busier than Magnus expected, because Mx. Beckers from room two reports that the cold faucet on their bathroom sink has broken, and so Magnus has to steal Juliet – one of his housekeepers – away to help him fix it, leaving Meliorn to turn down all the beds by themself. Thankfully, it’s an easy fix – a nut had come loose, close to the base of the sink. They only have to remove one floorboard to get at it, and the damp from the leak should be a temporary problem in the heatwave they’ve been having lately.

It’s almost noon by the time Magnus can step away, and he breathes deeply as he walks to the marketplace, enjoying the beat of the finally-blooming sun on his skin and the gentle wind tousling his hair, swinging the wicker basket on his arm.   
His first stop is the woodwork shop, owned and run by the entire Roberts family for five generations now. Young Maia’s on the shop floor today, while her parents and younger brother and sister are in the back turning and polishing new stock. He chats with her for a while – about how business is at the Ram, about how she was entirely right to decide she could do better than that awful Jordan boy, about how this _Clary_ girl sounds a lot more likely to treat her right – before paying for the comb and toothbrush, and taking his leave.

There are a few apples at the greengrocer’s, per Raphael’s request, and they look delicious even though Magnus knows from experience that they’ll need to be baked with a _lot_ of honey, having fallen too early to have properly developed their sweetness. He also manages to pick up the dried sage, as well as a small punnet of raspberries to stave off his appetite until he can stop for a proper lunch.

He sits in the upper field to eat them, reclining a little halfway down the hill, watching volunteers work on the huge tower of kindling and fallen timber at the very top of the gentle slopes. It looks even bigger than last year’s, and it should make a spectacular sight when set ablaze tomorrow night. Which is good, because – as proven by his own thriving business at the moment – there’s a lot of folk in from neighbouring towns this year, and so more people than ever will be after the ashes once the fire dies out. It’s a little strange how people so mistrustful of magic can put faith in such superstition, as if ashes from a Midsummer fire might have some logical, _non-_ magical way of bringing luck in the coming harvest season. But be that as it may, it’s still quite the event. Magnus leans back even further, closing his eyes and basking in the sun, thinking of the cheer that went up when last year’s fire was lit.

A chill creeps over him a second later, and he opens his eyes, blinking a silhouette into focus – and scrambling to his feet as he recognises it. ‘Camille!’ He dusts himself off, flustered, inclining his head and trying to control his unseemly beaming smile. He suddenly wishes he’d worn a fancier outfit today – what was he _thinking,_ of course there was a chance he’d run into her -   
‘Magnus,’ she says, ‘what are you doing on the floor? You _are_ aware that there are benches just across the way?’ Her tone is dry, but Magnus sees the flash of amusement in her eyes.   
He chuckles lowly. ‘Of course, you’re right – I guess I just… wanted to sit here,’ he finishes, a little lamely. He mentally shakes himself, trying to find his smoother faculties, the ones that seem to escape him when confronted with someone like Camille – so beautiful, and clever, and generous of heart. ‘Actually, I’m glad to have run into you – even more than I usually would be,’ he notes with a small smile, feeling pleased with himself when her mouth twitches in the suggestion of a smirk. ‘Would you do me the honour of joining me for that dinner at the Green Ram tonight?’ he asks. ‘We’ll be serving the finest roast chicken money can buy.’   
She smiles – demure and delighted. ‘I would _love_ to, Magnus,’ she declares. ‘What time shall I expect you to walk me over?’

He’s about to answer when he’s interrupted by a scream.

His gaze darts to the source, up at the top of the hill – which people are now running down, losing their footing in their haste to get away from a sudden billowing of smoke. Magnus’ heart skips a beat. The bonfire must have caught early in the intense heat, and it’s still improperly contained, there’s still a trail of wood waiting to be piled upon it, leading all the way down to the houses on the edge of the road -   
He turns to Camille, grasping her shoulders. ‘Get yourself to safety,’ he implores her, before he bolts up the hill, dodging those who are running down in his direction.

The fire is growing quickly, too quickly, and those who were trying to tamp it out are being forced to pull back now, stumbling away with hacking coughs and streaming eyes. Magnus looks around him – there are too many people for him to hope to go unnoticed.

But in the end, it’s no choice at all. Not when he was raised to have more heart than brain.

The pull on his magic is a little unfamiliar, like stretching a little-used muscle after a few days of desk work. But it’s a part of him all the same, and as he focuses on the fire, the magic springs forth from his hands as easily as breathing. He guides his hands from side to side, extinguishing the flames, leaving only the fading trail of smoke in each corner of the two-thirds built, half-collapsed wood pile.   
It’s probably less than a minute before the fire is out, but as he releases his magic, it’s as if he’s run several miles. He sags, bracing his hands on his knees, breathing deep lungfuls of faintly smoky air.

When he straightens up again, there’s a strange inactivity around him. He glances around – and quickly flinches his gaze away when he sees more than one set of eyes fixed on him.   
His ears, he realises, had started ringing slightly. It’s a fact he only notices when the symptom fades, and the stunned, fearful murmurs start to reach him.   
‘Did he…?’  
‘How is that even possible? He didn’t even-‘  
 _‘- warlock,_ dear gods, how can it –‘

He swallows hard, heart pounding with a different sort of fear. He marches back down the hill, keeping his eyes resolutely on the ground, and rescues his basket – mercifully, Camille appears to have taken his advice and run, meaning she didn’t see what happened – before making his way home.

Suspicious glances and scared whispers follow him all the way to the edge of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter - mentions of past Maia/Jordan, general light manipulativeness from Camille, and discrimination against warlocks from the townspeople.


	3. More Heart than Brain - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having revealed his magic to the town, Magnus deals with the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning for discrimination and dehumanisation. Also, there's a festival on, so casual descriptions of food and alcohol as you might expect. <3

No-one sees Magnus for the next twenty-four hours.  
He makes sure of it – as soon as he gets back to the empty lobby of the Ram, he sets the basket down behind the main desk, and heads upstairs to lock himself in his room.

He sits in front of his window, net curtain drawn so he can’t be seen from the street, watching blankly as the hateful brightness of the sun turns into the hazy play of colour over evening clouds. Orange like fire and grey like smoke.  
He shuts his eyes, gritting his teeth against the trembling of his expression. _Eighteen years._ Eighteen _fucking_ years, he’s gone without a magical slip-up. After Ragnor passed, that left no-one in Wall who knew about him, leaving him protected behind an impenetrable barrier of common ignorance. And yet, in the space of a minute or so, he’s managed to completely shatter that illusion in truly spectacular fashion. _And you thought my eyes would be a problem,_ he thinks with bitter amusement. _Don’t worry, Ragnor. I’m fairly certain I kept them glamoured while performing a powerful fire suppression spell in front of half the town.  
_He snorts, but it loses all its humour somewhere in his throat, and emerges as a sob. He doesn’t regret it. He _can’t_ regret it, knowing that whatever happens to him now, he saved lives today. He’s seen neighbouring towns ravaged by fires, heard the accounts of how quickly it can spread in dry heat. The nearby buildings would never have stood a chance if they’d caught. He couldn’t let that happen.

He kicks off his shoes, collapsing face-first on to the bed, and tries to hold onto his conviction in the face of his despair.  
The fire in the sky gradually goes out – and for the first time since Ragnor died, Magnus cries himself to sleep.

  
The next day – around noon, if the brightness outside his window is anything to go by – there’s an insistent knock on Magnus’ door. He doesn’t answer, but it doesn’t matter, because a moment later the door opens a crack and Raphael’s voice comes through. ‘I’m coming in, so you’d better be decent,’ he warns.  
Despite himself, Magnus chuckles. ‘I’m decent,’ he says, and Raphael enters properly. His hands are full with a tea tray – an incongruously domestic pose, considering his expression is still his customary light scowl – and so he pushes the door closed with his back, before coming over to sit next to Magnus, both of them slightly hunched over on the edge of the bed with the tea tray between them. ‘You look like shit,’ he says.  
‘Thank you,’ Magnus says, not quite able to muster the proper sort of indignation. ‘Is that what you came here to say?’  
‘Don’t be an idiot. I came in here because I haven’t seen you since yesterday morning, and I suspect you haven’t eaten. And if you starve to death, I don’t get paid.’ He lifts the cloth from the tea tray, revealing bread, summer berries, and thick slices of a pale, hard cheese.

Magnus’ stomach turns at the sight of it, but he tries to look grateful, and instead takes the lighter cup of tea. ‘Thank you,’ he says; but sincerely, this time. He takes a few sips – it’s just how he likes it, of course, a splash more milk than Raphael himself favours and the barest drop of honey to sweeten it – before he can’t hold back the question any longer. ‘I imagine you heard what happened?’  
‘Of course I did,’ Raphael says, drinking his own tea. ‘I don’t think you have to worry about breaking the news to anyone.’ Which is an oddly diplomatic piece of phrasing, for him.  
‘No. I assumed it would be the talk of the town.’ Magnus sighs. ‘Is that what the lunch is for? Trying to get on my good side so that when you quit, I don’t turn you into a frog?’ Oh, good. He’s not been on the gallows in a long time, so it’s nice to know he’s still got the humour part of it down.  
Raphael, however, just rolls his eyes. ‘I’m not quitting, you imbecile. No-one’s quitting. And yes, I _do_ know that for a fact, because Elias called a meeting first thing this morning to speak on that very subject. We know you, Magnus – that doesn’t change because you have magic, especially when you used it to _save lives,_ for gods’ sakes.’ He smirks. ‘Besides, from the way he was glowering, I’m pretty sure Meliorn would kill anyone who tried to leave over this.’  
Magnus laughs, shaking his head. ‘That’s kind of him, in a way.’ He reaches over and takes a small handful of blueberries and raspberries, keeping his eyes fixed on the tea tray as he says softly, ‘I can’t tell you how much your acceptance means to me.’  
‘Hm,’ Raphael says – which, for him, is practically a declaration of stalwart devotion. ‘I only wish the rest of the town was so reasonable.’   
Magnus barely dares ask, but he has to know. ‘How bad is it?’

Raphael seems to consider that for a moment. ‘Probably not as bad as you’re imagining, but worse than I personally feel reflects well on our society,’ he lands on. ‘The people who know you well seem to be standing by you, while others are… wary, I think. No-one’s calling on the mayor’s office for your banishment, or anything like that.’ His scowl intensifies. ‘But as usual, there’s a loud minority, and they’re freaking out. Some of them are even suggesting that you _started_ the fire.’ Magnus only has half a moment to feel profoundly hurt by that before Raphael scoffs. ‘Because _that_ makes sense. “Here, let me open myself up to wild criticism by casting a fire which I will _immediately_ extinguish, and then run away so that any possible hero worship I was hoping for will fall on empty space.”’

Magnus’ lips twitch into a sad smile, and he tears a bread roll open, pushing a slice of cheese into the centre and tearing a tiny piece of his rough sandwich off with his teeth. He chews it slowly, contemplatively, following up his swallow with another sigh. ‘I suppose we lost business over all this, too.’  
‘Some,’ Raphael says. ‘About a third of the guests left – I don’t think they’re even staying for the festival anymore.’ He shrugs. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish. Judging by what I saw at breakfast this morning, the ones who stayed are about a fifty-fifty split between newly-cautious and completely unfazed.’ He almost certainly gave the latter extra bacon, too – not that he’d ever admit he does that for the guests that win his favour in some way – and Magnus’ worry melts a little further at the show of support.

Raphael drains the last of his tea, placing the mug back down on the tray. ‘What are you going to do, then?’ he asks.  
Magnus raises an eyebrow at his tone – as if he’s enquiring as to his weekend plans, and not his newfound reputation as the town witch. ‘I’m not sure there’s anything I _can_ do,’ he says, idly picking at the last of the berries, rolling them gently between thumb and forefinger before popping them into his mouth. ‘I should probably just make myself scarce until this blows over. Hope that once the shock wears off, people will just… let me get on with my life as normal.’  
‘Bad move,’ Raphael says, meeting Magnus’ look of surprise with a steadfast, seemingly dispassionate gaze. ‘Wait for it to blow over, sure – but if you hide yourself away, by the time you re-emerge, the genuinely hateful bastards will have done their work and you’ll have gone from a piece of gossip to a scary campfire story. All you’d be doing is trading scandal for urban legend.’  
‘I don’t see an alternative.’  
‘Well then it’s lucky for you that I’m your friend,’ Raphael says dryly. ‘Because I have the perfect alternative.’ He pauses, turning serious once more. ‘Come with us tonight.’  
Magnus blinks. ‘…What?’  
‘Come with us tonight,’ Raphael says with a shrug. ‘Come to the Summer Festival, with me and the rest of the staff. Let people see you going about your business as normal; let the wary ones get used to the idea that having magic doesn’t erase the identity they’ve known you as for two decades.’

Magnus tries to find a rebuttal – a reason why he shouldn’t, why he _can’t_ be out in public right now – but unfortunately, none spring to mind. He has a horrible suspicion that Raphael is _right,_ damn it all. ‘It could be dangerous,’ he protests weakly.  
Raphael looks even more unimpressed than usual. ‘People are, in general, stupid – but not stupid enough to actually target someone they’ve just learned is a warlock. And if someone _is_ stupid enough to attack you – and, by some miracle, Juliet and Lily don’t appear out of thin air to beat the shit out of them – well, _you have magic,_ genius. Put up a shield, or something; I don’t know how this shit works, but you get the idea.’

Magnus exhales, long and loud. _‘Fine,’_ he eventually capitulates. ‘I’ll come to the festival. But I’m warning you – if this causes more trouble, I really will fire you.’  
Raphael smirks. ‘Sure you will.’ He gathers up the tea tray, heading for the door. ‘We’ll be walking over in about four hours or so. Which means I should probably leave you to get ready, right?’

He leaves, wholly ignoring the bird that Magnus flips him. ‘Don’t be late,’ he warns, and pulls the door shut.

  
***

  
The festival is surprisingly un-awful. Magnus walks over from the Ram with Raphael, Elias, Meliorn, Juliet, and Lily, and despite the odd extra-warm smile sent his way, his colleagues are mostly treating him the same. It gives him the courage he needs to walk into town with his head held high, rather than tucking tail and making an excuse to head back to the inn alone. It doesn’t quite stop him checking his breast pocket several times, making sure that he has his contingency plan – but it’s enough, for now.

When they get into town, of course, it’s not nearly as easy, and Magnus would have to be an idiot not to notice the same kinds of whispers and stares that followed him home the day before. But the band keeps playing, which means that people keep dancing and drinking and laughing in the streets, apparently too caught up in the revelry to bother with a witch-hunt (warlock-hunt?) right now.

A few hours of dancing with his friends – and a couple of mugs of summer punch – later, Magnus is feeling considerably more relaxed. He finishes his turn with Lily, and when the song reaches its coda, he pulls Raphael in by the arm, ignoring his shouted protest. ‘Thank you,’ he says seriously, even as he smirks with mischievous intent, and sends Raphael into a spin under his arm. ‘I’m glad I came.’  
Raphael glares at him, but his tone isn’t quite sharp enough to match it. ‘You’re welcome.’ He pulls away with a threatening smile. ‘Now get off of me, you moron.’  
Magnus returns the smile, still a little too touched to fire back the expected _‘you’re the moron.’_ Besides, a moment later, he sees a familiar head of curly dark hair. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he says, and quickly starts moving towards the edge of the square, where those who are tiring of dancing are filtering out into the streets. ‘Maia!’ he calls.

Maia looks around, and – to his relief – lights up to see him. ‘Magnus!’ She runs at him, almost knocking him over with the force of her hug. ‘I was worried about you,’ she says disapprovingly, but when she pulls away she’s smiling. ‘After yesterday. For all the chatter about what happened, no-one could actually tell me anything _important –_ like whether or not you were hurt.’  
He smiles softly back at her. ‘I’m all right,’ he says – but then the smile slips from his face, something else occurring to him. ‘Are your parents all right with me speaking to you? I wouldn’t want them to worry.’ It’s an understatement, of course, but he’s not _quite_ so self-destructive as to start conjuring up ideas of what a protective parent might fear from a warlock’s friendship with their daughter.

Maia frowns a little, mouth quirking in clear annoyance, but he’s fairly sure it’s not directed at him even before she speaks. ‘Honestly? They might not be thrilled about it,’ she admits; but then she shrugs. ‘But I don’t care. I’m nearly twenty, for fuck’s sake. I’m old enough to choose my own friends.’ She grins. ‘Besides, Luke’s on your side, so if Mum and Dad give me any shit, they’ll have him to answer to.’  
‘That’s… comforting,’ Magnus says – and even through his hesitance, he means it. Despite what Raphael said – and his genuine enjoyment of the festival so far – he’s kept himself a little guarded since coming back into town, scanning around for anyone looking to cause trouble, for a look that’s shifted from wariness into intent. If it comes to that, at least now he knows he has the deputy mayor on his side. Next time Lucien stops by the inn for a meal, Magnus will have to make sure he’s the recipient of some of Raphael’s patented favouritism.

‘Maia, where did you – oh. Hi.’ Magnus turns to see a petite, young-faced stranger – no more than Maia’s age, he’d wager – with flaming red hair, bounding towards them and then coming to a sudden stop as they see Magnus talking with Maia.  
‘Sorry,’ Maia says, stepping over and linking elbows with them, even though she has to drop her shoulder down to do so. ‘I got a little distracted on the way to the drinks stand.’ She turns back to Magnus, a softness lingering in her eyes. ‘This is Clary, the girl I told you about. Clary, this is Magnus.’ Clary’s eyes widen, and Magnus’ heart sinks – but Maia hastily adds, ‘A friend of mine,’ and Clary’s expression seems to clear.  
‘Oh,’ she says, and when she looks back at Magnus now, it’s with a warm, welcoming smile. ‘Nice to meet you.’  
‘Likewise,’ Magnus says, taking her proffered hand, relieved that apparently, Maia’s good opinion has been enough to erase Clary’s uncertainty.

Maia lets out a deep breath. ‘We should probably go get those drinks,’ she says, and there’s a reluctance to her tone – one that Magnus suspects has nothing to do with the girl on her arm, and everything to do with walking away from _him._  
Clary hums in agreement. ‘Definitely. I’m parched. Magnus, you’re welcome to join us if you’d like?’  
Touched, Magnus nonetheless shakes his head a little ruefully. ‘Thank you, but I ought to be getting back to the people I came with,’ he lies. It’s sweet of Clary to offer, and he’s definitely a fan of the fact she did that to make Maia happy – but he makes a terrible third wheel, and he can’t imagine a worse scenario for that curse than what’s pretty clearly a first date.  
‘Okay, if you’re sure,’ Maia says, half-smiling. ‘You know where to find me if you need anything, yeah?’  
Magnus nods. ‘I appreciate that,’ he says, before waving them in the direction of the nearest drinks stand. ‘Go on, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy the rest of the festival.’  
‘We will,’ chirps Clary, and she tugs Maia away. ‘So – you talk about me, huh?’ Magnus hears, her tone shifting into something teasing.  
He chuckles, wandering a little aimlessly down the nearest side street. He likes Clary, he decides. If she’s that kind to a slightly-ominous stranger, she’s almost certainly going to treat Maia with the care and respect she deserves.

The air down this street is filled with spices and warmth, and Magnus takes a deep, appreciative breath. He strolls through easily – half-aware that it’s because some people are very purposefully stepping out of his way, but altogether too content with his evening so far to pay it much heed beyond the initial twist in his gut.  
He buys himself a piece of spiced raisin flatbread; the server looks a little frightened, and so he pays a coin extra, giving them a warm smile as he walks away with his prize. It’s a little ridiculous, he admits privately, tearing into the bread and humming in approval at the taste. But if people are afraid of him, he’s not above a little bribery to make them realise he’s not that scary.

He reaches the end of the street, and looks up and down the next, frowning in thought. They’ll be lighting the fire soon – on purpose, this time – and he’s not sure which is the quickest way back to –  
Magnus’ eyes catch upon a familiar figure, and the flatbread threatens to make a reappearance as his stomach drops.  
Because that’s _Camille,_ that’s Camille on Aldertree’s arm –

He swallows hard, forcing his expression into a neutral smile, drawing himself up tall. It’s fine. Camille’s a highly eligible debutante, it would be foolish to imagine he’s the only one courting her. He’s not afraid of a little competition. ‘Camille!’ he calls, swanning over to them. ‘Are you heading back for the –‘  
Aldertree cuts him off, stepping in front of her. ‘Step away, warlock,’ he almost growls.

Magnus drops his smile, but takes a single step back, not wanting to escalate the situation. ‘Mr. Aldertree, Miss Belcourt and I are well-acquainted. I simply wanted –‘  
‘Well, I’m sorry, but did you consider that perhaps Miss Belcourt doesn’t want to talk to the likes of _you?’_ Aldertree smiles unpleasantly.  
Magnus breathes slowly, wishing he could close his eyes to centre himself, but he’s _definitely_ not going to take that chance. ‘I mean her no harm,’ he says, almost pleading, and trying not to feel as though every fear he’s had in the last two days is swooping back in at that very moment.

Thankfully, that’s when Camille cuts in. ‘It’s all right, Victor,’ she says, laying a hand on his arm, fixing him with a soft smile that nicks Magnus’ heart a little. ‘I’ll see you up there.’  
_Victor_ turns a simpering gaze on her, and Magnus fights the urge to roll his eyes. ‘If you’re certain?’ She nods, and he glares at Magnus once more before striding past him, presumably in search of the upper field.  
Magnus pushes Aldertree out of his mind, focusing back on Camille. ‘Thank you,’ he says, smiling genuinely. ‘I –‘  
‘Not here,’ Camille says abruptly, her gaze darting around. ‘Follow me.’

She turns on her heel, briskly heading for the nearest alleyway. A little alarmed, Magnus hurries after her, almost running into her as she turns to face him again. ‘Is everything all right?’  
‘Of course not,’ she snaps. ‘What are you doing, coming up to me like that? Victor almost laid you out on the pavement.’  
‘I – I was –‘ Magnus is stunned, and he blinks a few times, knowing that he looks like a buffoon but needing to get his bearings. ‘I just wanted to ask if you’d like to come and watch the fire-lighting,’ he explains.  
‘…With you?’  
‘Yes, ob – of course. With me,’ he says.

Camille sighs, reaching up to cup his face in one hand. ‘Magnus,’ she says, and there’s such kindness in her voice it makes Magnus feel like a child again. ‘What we had… I know it lasted for a long time. But that doesn’t mean it can last forever. Especially given what’s happened.’  
Dread sinks into Magnus’ core. ‘You mean my magic,’ he whispers.  
‘Yes,’ Camille says, taking her hand away, Magnus immediately missing the warmth. ‘Magnus – perhaps if I believed that anything could come of us, I could risk being seen with you now. But how can I?’ She laughs, shaking her head, and Magnus wonders if behind her effortless dignity, her despair is as vast as his own in this moment. ‘You’re a _warlock,_ Magnus. You know as well as I that the descendants of demons are incapable of love.’ She smiles at him ruefully. ‘A pity, of course. But not one I can sacrifice myself for.’  
Magnus’ heart hammers in his chest. ‘That’s – that’s not true,’ he whispers, because _no,_ he can’t – ‘I’ve loved before, I –‘  
But Camille is shaking her head again. ‘If only I could believe it, Magnus.’ She sighs. ‘I have to go. I’ll miss the fire-lighting.’

She starts to walk past him, and Magnus spins, the ground suddenly feeling unsteady. ‘Wait!’ he blurts out. ‘Wait, please –‘  
She stops in her tracks, half-turning back to him.  
‘Let me prove it to you,’ he asks breathlessly. ‘Please, Camille, my dearest – anything you want, anything your heart desires. How can I prove my devotion?’  
‘It’s too late, Magnus,’ she says – her voice is unwavering, and his heart skips a beat at the sound of a strength he’s always been able to rely on. ‘Turn the Rushton river to gold, or summon a snowstorm, or pluck me a star from the sky; and I doubt that even that could change my mind.’  
‘Camille,’ he says, his voice breaking over the word.  
But this time, she doesn’t look back – and Magnus is left leaning against the alleyway wall, breathing heavily, half-aware that he’s shaking.

The moment his legs are stable again, he starts walking for the edge of town.

  
Away from the hubbub of the festival, the deserted streets turn cold, but Magnus barely notices except for where the tears leaking down his face. He must look a mess. How can he blame her for walking away?  
_Oh, Camille. My dearest Camille.  
_He stumbles, his breath catching in a choked-off sob. What a fool he was to hope. When his colleagues and friends reacted so exceptionally – when he was merely faced with caution and shock from his acquaintances, rather than persecution – he allowed himself to become complacent, to believe it was going to be okay.  
_You utter fool,_ he scolds himself. _How could she stay, after you revealed what you are? Did you honestly expect your life wouldn’t be irreparably changed?_

He walks beyond the reach of the streetlights, gazing up into the heavens, a plea to the stars aching in his heart but not quite forming on his lips. _Please,_ it whispers. _It hurts. Just… please._

The last thing he expects is an answer – but when the streak of light flashes across the sky, that’s what it feels like.

Magnus’ eyes widen. _Pluck me a star from the sky._  
She said that she had _doubts._ Perhaps – perhaps if he can –

Before he can even finish that thought, he’s already running, chasing the star’s path across the sky.

  
When he reaches the wall, he crouches low into the nearby bushes, thankful for the dark green coat he chose for tonight. As expected, Simon’s at his post – Magnus isn’t sure he’s moved ever since his grandfather left it to him a few months ago, and for someone who was such a dweeb growing up, he’s turned into an annoyingly effective guard against trespassers into magic country.

Magnus scans along the wall for a break in the stone that he already half-knows won’t be there. Apparently, the fae that used to use the now-guarded gap to leave changelings were happy to squeeze through just the one narrow opening.  
Fortunately, if all goes to plan, Magnus won’t have to use it.

He slinks away, out of even Simon’s peripheral vision, closer to the forest that lines the other side of the wall. He hasn’t made a portal in a while, and certainly never at this distance, which is why he’d half-heartedly hoped for another way through. But still, he’s fairly certain he can do it. Ever since he put out that fire, his magic seems to have bounced back even stronger – like it’s been sleeping in its disuse, and yesterday was the kiss of adventure needed to rouse it from heavy slumber.

He closes his eyes, focusing on the star’s trajectory, and throws out his hands. The portal swirls in front of him in a rush of wind and light, and he steps through –  
\- and immediately loses his footing, only catching glimpses of the vast impact crater as he tumbles down to the centre of it.

Magnus lands with a soft groan, squeezing his eyes shut against the dizziness and bruising. Thankfully, his head seems to have come to rest against something soft –

Wait. Something _soft?_

His eyes fly open, and he scrambles up to his knees, pulling in a sharp breath at the sight of the _person_ he’d inadvertently been lying on top of. ‘Oh gods. Oh gods – Hey! Hey, are you okay?’ he asks, a little frantic, checking their pulse, hurriedly examining their head for injuries, tapping their face lightly to try and rouse them. _Oh fuck._ Did he do this? The first portal he makes in over a decade, and he manages to land on someone and knock them out cold - ‘Hey, come on, now,’ he pleads, increasingly alarmed.

The figure’s eyes squint open – but Magnus’ relief only lasts a second, because immediately, they’re _launching_ themselves away, leaping to their feet and dropping into a fighting stance. ‘Get away from me!’ they growl; but there’s no hiding the undercurrent of fear, from the way their chest heaves under the torn, pale golden tunic to the way their legs shake slightly, noticeable even under the loose, scuffed-up white trousers.

Magnus raises his hands – an odd thing to do if you’re a warlock, he’ll admit, but it’s a universal gesture of surrender nonetheless – and tries to smile, speaking in the most soothing tone he can muster. ‘Hey, it’s all right – I’m not here to cause you any trouble. I just came looking for the star that crashed down here.’  
It has the opposite effect to what Magnus intends. The eyes locked with his grow wide, and the stranger _snarls_ at Magnus like a rabid dog. It’s bizarre, but unfortunately, they have the stature to pull it off as intimidating, too. They’re even taller than Magnus, and they’re built like some sort of athlete. ‘I may have just fallen, but make no mistake, Downworlder,' they spit, 'if you come near me I’ll burn your fucking eyes out.’  
‘Come near you? Why would I – ‘

Something clicks, and Magnus straightens up, unable to keep himself from staring. ‘You’re the star,’ he murmurs. ‘Holy shit – are you okay?’

His incredulity seems to give the star pause – they relax, just slightly. ‘I… Sort of?’ they hazard a guess. ‘I mean, I think I’m in one piece.’  
_One piece._ A memory brushes the edges of Magnus’ consciousness – his father, swallowing a piece of a star – _the heart –  
_Magnus abruptly feels faintly sick again, and half-sits, half-collapses back down to the ground.

The star frowns at him, taking a cautious step forward. ‘Are _you_ okay?’ they ask – pointed, but not devoid of concern.  
Magnus waves off the question, forcing a smile. ‘It’s fine. I just – I had to use quite a bit of magic to get here.’ It’s only half a lie – he genuinely is feeling quite drained. That long-distance portal was the toughest spell he’s ever attempted.  
The star hums, clearly still suspicious, but there’s an edge of something else there, too. Something that clearly allows them to drop their guard a little further, as they come and sit opposite Magnus on the floor of the crater. ‘I’m not what you expected to find when you got here, then.’ _  
_ It’s not quite a question, but Magnus finds himself answering anyway. ‘No,’ he admits. ‘I expected – I don’t quite know. A lump of rock, a ball of fire or something.’  
The star wrinkles their nose in apparent distaste. ‘Why the hell would you even want that?’

Magnus swallows, the nausea driven out by the reminder of pain. ‘The woman I love left me tonight,’ he says, willing his voice not to break. ‘And I know it’s foolish of me, but – something she said – if I could bring her back something like that, a piece of the heavens to prove my devotion…’  
He trails off, palming away the beginnings of tears and giving a self-deprecating chuckle. ‘Well. I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I can hardly cart you back across the wall as a gift.’

He didn’t assume it would get a laugh, and he was right – but when he looks up again, the star doesn’t look blank, but thoughtful. Almost calculating. ‘Maybe you could,’ they say quietly.  
Magnus blinks in surprise. ‘I’m sorry?’  
‘Not as a gift,’ the star hurries to explain. ‘But… proof. You know – _I found you that star, turns out he’s a person and not a lump of rock, but would you like to meet him?’_ He shrugs, the ghost of a smile lighting up his face in a way Magnus didn’t quite expect.  
He gazes at the star, feeling a flare of barely-daring gratitude. ‘You would do that?’ he asks. ‘Why?’  
The star’s face falls, and he looks seriously at Magnus. ‘Because I want to go home,’ he says simply, his voice staying steadier than Magnus suspects he feels, given the weight of that. ‘And I have no idea how to do it, and I could use the help of a warlock.’

Magnus frowns. ‘I’d be more than happy to help you get home, but I wouldn’t know-‘ He cuts himself off, his eyes widening. ‘Actually… I know exactly how.’  
He reaches into his breast pocket, and takes out the small black stump of wax. ‘This is –‘  
‘- A Babylon candle,’ the star says, at the exact same moment Magnus says, ‘- a portalling candle.’  
Magnus blinks, smiling a little. ‘Well. I suppose it must have a couple of different names,’ he says. ‘But if I activate this for you, it should be able to get you home, right?’  
The star nods. ‘And you’ll do that, if I come with you and let you introduce me to your sweetheart?’  
‘Exactly.’ He gets to his feet, and offers the star his hand. ‘So, do we have a deal?’

The star seems to consider him for a moment longer, and then takes his hand, letting Magnus pull him up to his feet. ‘We do,’ he says. ‘Lead the way, Mr.…?’  
‘Bane, but Magnus is fine.’  
‘Magnus,’ the star repeats, as if turning the name over on his tongue – and _huh,_ apparently he’s got a handsome smile when he wants to use it properly. ‘I’m Alexander,’ he offers in return.  
Magnus nods in acknowledgement. ‘All right then, Alexander. Follow me.’


	4. Deals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander and Magnus set off for Wall, but it's not all smooth sailing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: canon-typical violence, possible hallucinations, and descriptions of hunger.

‘You know, when you said _follow me,’_ Alexander says irritably, ‘I _thought_ that meant you knew where you were going.’   
Magnus grits his teeth, resisting the urge to shout at his increasingly-impatient companion. ‘I’m doing my best, _Alec,’_ he says, not quite able to resist the dig of a diminutive. Nobody who favoured a nickname would introduce themselves as _Alexander,_ after all.   
‘We’re going in circles,’ the star insists. ‘For fuck’s sake, you _live_ on the Downworld, I thought you’d know how to navigate it.’

‘And if you’ve spent all your days looking down on it from on high, then why are you less helpful than one of my father’s three-hundred-year-old maps?’ he shoots back, the last of his patience evaporating. He’s tired, and heartsick, and frustrated after being lost for what must be hours now. The last thing he needs at this moment is to be insulted by some uppity, shiny bastard.   
Not for the first time tonight – or rather, this morning, he corrects himself – Magnus wishes he had enough magic left to portal back, or enough of the portalling candle to be sure he could send Alexander home even if they used some of it to take them back to Wall first. Being lost in this forest with decreasingly pleasant company is getting old pretty fast.

He looks up through a gap in the canopy, huffing a laugh at the single speck of a star he sees against the dawn sky. ‘Maybe we should ask your friend up there, while we can still see them,’ he scoffs. ‘You never know, perhaps _some_ stars pay attention to what they’re looking down on.’   
But he doesn’t get a reply, and when he turns around, he’s a little concerned to see a flash of something like pain on Alexander’s face. It’s possible he’s crossed a line.

Before he can make out some sort of apology, though, Alexander’s expression hardens. ‘You know what?’ he says – and as annoying as the complaining was, the calm in his voice now unsettles Magnus all the more. ‘I don’t need this. The deal’s off.’   
_‘…What?’_ Magnus says incredulously. ‘For _one_ comment? As if you haven’t been complaining this _whole time-‘_  
‘Because I thought you knew what you were doing,’ Alexander says coldly, ‘and you clearly don’t. So the deal’s off, and I’ll find another warlock to help me.’   
‘Alexander-‘  
‘Good luck getting your girlfriend back, providing you ever get out of this forest,’ Alexander says bitterly – and then he’s turning away, striding in the opposite direction.

Magnus just stands there, gobsmacked. _‘Fine,’_ he grits out eventually. ‘Good luck finding anyone else who wants to _help_ you, instead of just cutting out your heart, you ungrateful bastard!’ he yells. His own despair threatens to tamp down the cruelty he means to muster, but it’ll have to do.   
Angrily wiping away the beginning of fresh tears – because _what is he supposed to do now? –_ he keeps walking, trying to put the star out of his mind.

He’ll find another way to win Camille back. He has to.   
This can’t be how it ends.

  
***

  
By Alexander’s reckoning, it takes about ten minutes for his stubbornness to wear off, and dread to set in.

He sits underneath a large fir tree, trying to calm his breathing in the shelter of its lowest branches. _Fuck._ He shouldn’t have lost his temper like that. Magnus is right – how many Downworlders will be after him, now? If Magnus didn’t even know what a star _is,_ at first, but still knew the magic his heart carried… how many others know? There’s a very real possibility he’s just thrown away the only chance he’ll get at help from someone he actually had a reason to _trust._ And for what? A nerve that Magnus couldn’t possibly have known he’d hit?

Alexander shakes his head. That’s enough wallowing, he thinks, scolding himself – Magnus isn’t the only warlock on the Downworld, and for all that a star’s heart is a great temptation for mortals, it’s not like a star’s _favour_ is useless. He’ll find someone else to make a deal with.   
As soon as he gets out of this damn forest, that is.

He stands up – and when the first drop of water hits his cheek, he realises that it wasn’t just the tree’s branches providing the darkness. ‘Great,’ he mutters. ‘Just… perfect.’

He walks carefully through the undergrowth as the rain turns the leaf litter into slippery mush, ignoring the chill as best he can. Just his luck that he’d fall far north enough that even midsummer heat completely dissipates once the rain comes. At least it’s still bright enough for him to see, even with his own light so dimmed – he doesn’t want to think about what’ll happen if he can’t get out of here before night falls again, now that he’s alone and undeniably shivery.

  
Thankfully, he doesn’t find out.   
The trees start to thin about fifteen minutes later – and when an inn appears on the horizon, he almost cries with relief. But instead, he pushes onwards, doggedly making his way across the field that stands between him and his chance to rest for a while.

When he drags himself through the front door, he’s met with a high-pitched gasp.   
‘Oh, you poor thing. Billy, run and get some towels.’   
The owner of the voice meets him at the door, and Alexander blinks his vision clear to see a tall woman with long dark hair, gazing at him with huge, sympathetic eyes. ‘Come into the warm, sweetheart,’ she urges, leading him over to sit by the small fireplace. A young blond man – presumably the _Billy_ she was talking to – shuffles back over with some towels, and she wraps the largest one she can find around Alexander’s shoulders.   
‘Thank you,’ he says, shuddering as his body readjusts to being warm and dry.   
‘Of course,’ the woman replies, perching on the chair opposite his. ‘What’s your name, sweetheart? What happened to you?’   
‘…Alec,’ he replies, a little wary of using his full name. Did people in the Downworld still know the names of stars? He can’t remember, but better safe than sorry. ‘And I’m alright, really,’ he insists, though he knows he must look beyond rough by this point. ‘I got lost in the forest, and when it started to rain, I… fell.’

The woman nods, a gentle smile gracing her features. ‘Alright. Well, you’re welcome to stay for a while until you dry off – I can even arrange for a room for the night, if you’d like?’   
He considers it for a moment. ‘That’d be great, thank you,’ he says. If he can get to the nearest town tomorrow, he should be able to scrounge up enough coin to pay for a night. Besides, he can hardly just wander the Downworld without a base until he finds another warlock to make a deal with.   
‘Wonderful,’ the woman says, getting to her feet and laying a hand on Alexander’s shoulder. ‘I’ll go let my husband know we have another guest staying. If you need anything, ask Billy, alright?’   
‘Thank you,’ Alexander says. ‘I’m sorry, I should have asked – what’s your name?’   
‘Lilith,’ the woman says, and she pats his shoulder with a wide smile. ‘I’ll be right back, Alec.’

  
***

  
Lilith closes the door behind the reception desk, flicking a finger to silence the doorway. ‘It’s him,’ she says quietly.   
Asmodeus looks up from his preparations, fixing her with his golden stare, and she does her best not to flinch. ‘You’re sure,’ he says flatly.   
She nods. ‘I’m sure. His light is dimmed, but there. He’s the star.’

Asmodeus grins widely. ‘Wonderful,’ he says, leaning on his cane and rising to his feet. ‘I trust you convinced him to stay the night?’   
‘Of course. When do we make our move?’   
‘As close to midnight as possible. When his brethren shine the brightest,’ he explains. ‘In the meantime, we should keep him comfortable. We want his heart strong and bright, after all.’   
‘Naturally.’

She heads back out to play hostess once more, a simpering smile plastered onto her face and excitement skittering under her skin.

  
***

  
Considering that Magnus has never been very good at sitting still, it feels like that’s all he’s done for the past three days.

It took him until the early afternoon to find his way out of the forest, a fact he knows only because the position of the sun changed behind the shifting clouds. He stopped to take a drink from a stream, and he’s aware that by now he ought to be tired and hungry, too; but time is stretching thin around him, and it’s like he’s too numb for those feelings to take root.   
Which is how he came to be here – sitting at the edge of the treeline, the wall in the middle distance, the world quiet and still after the rain stopped about an hour ago.

He needs to go back at some point, of course. He knows that right now he should be crossing back over the wall, heading back to the Ram, getting himself something to eat and something dry to wear and then resting for a while. His friends are probably worried, too, after he disappeared last night – especially since his magic stunt has apparently earned him a few enemies.   
But he just… _can’t._ Because if he crosses the wall, it’s all real again. The suspicion and the fear of others around him.   
The look on Camille’s face when she told him it was over.

He buries his face in his hands, feeling the tears start to swell again and breathing deeply, trying to force them back.   
‘You know, there’s no point spending extra money on the waxed eyeliner if you’re just going to smudge it like _that_ instead.’

Magnus’ head jolts up, and he looks to his left, forgetting to breathe for a moment as his eyes confirm what his heart didn’t dare believe from voice alone. _‘Ragnor.’_  
His father sits beside him, a small, wry smile on his face. ‘Oh, don’t look so surprised to see me. I thought you knew that I’m always here for you?’   
Magnus swallows hard, his throat starting to burn against the threat of new tears. ‘I _do_ know that,’ he says, as evenly as he can. ‘But I’m also sleep-deprived, and magically depleted, and I haven’t eaten all day. There’s a very good chance I’m hallucinating right now.’   
Ragnor chuckles, and Magnus closes his eyes at the familiar sound – then opens them again immediately, suddenly terrified that Ragnor will disappear if he doesn’t keep his gaze on him. But Ragnor is still there, looking fondly at Magnus, and when he shuffles closer his shoulder is solid against Magnus’ own. ‘Fair enough,’ Ragnor says. ‘But regardless of how, I’m still here. So why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?’

Magnus laughs quietly at the absurdity, the sheer _scale_ of the answer. ‘Well,’ he begins, wiping his eyes, ‘I used my magic in front of half the town, because people were going to die if I didn’t, and now people are afraid of me. Some of them dangerously so.’   
He was expecting censure, which he only realises when it doesn’t come, Ragnor simply humming in understanding. ‘What else?’   
‘Ca-‘ Magnus stumbles over her name, breathing deeply until his voice is back under control. ‘The woman I was courting. She left me because I’m a warlock. And I thought I had a way to get her back, to prove to her that I love her – but it fell through, and I don’t know what else I can do.’   
‘I’m sorry,’ Ragnor says, and Magnus nods in acknowledgement, leaning a little more heavily against his father’s shoulder, relishing the grounding touch he’s so dearly missed.

‘What else?’ Ragnor asks again.   
Magnus frowns. ‘That’s not enough?’ he asks, raising an eyebrow.   
‘That’s plenty,’ Ragnor says gently, ‘and it would have brought many to despair by now. But one benefit of being – a spectre? Spirit? – anyway, one benefit of being _like this_ is that I can read you even better than I could when I was alive.’ He looks at Magnus, a little scrutinising. ‘You’re not simply upset, or even heartbroken. You’re worried about someone. Who?’

Magnus huffs a laugh. Damn if his father didn’t always know him down to the denials. ‘Fine. I met someone – a fallen star. And he was going to help me get Camille back, but we got lost in the forest, and he called off the deal.’ He shakes his head, annoyed at himself. ‘And I know he’s not my responsibility. I barely know him. But…’ He trails off.   
‘But it’s dangerous to be a star in this world,’ Ragnor finishes. ‘I suppose this means you know about the gift of a star’s heart?’   
Magnus nods. ‘Eating one was the last thing I saw Asmodeus do, although I didn’t know what it was at the time,’ he says quietly. ‘And now Alexander’s alone out there, and for some reason I’m afraid for him.’

Ragnor sighs, shaking his head fondly. ‘Well, the _reason_ you’re afraid is obvious,’ he says. ‘You’re a kind person who doesn’t want others to come to harm, and you’ve seen enough bad in this world to know that they often do.’ He looks at Magnus, his gaze serious. ‘As for the rest, I daresay it’s simpler than you’re letting it be,’ he says. ‘Do you think he’s in danger?’  
‘Yes.’ The answer trips off the very tip of Magnus’ tongue with utter certainty.   
‘Do you think you can help him?’   
That one takes a little longer, Magnus mulling it over for a moment. But, ‘Yes,’ he admits. ‘Not that it matters – he doesn’t want my help. He _had_ it, but all he did was argue with me and then storm off.’   
‘Well, he’s lost and alone in a world he doesn’t belong to,’ Ragnor says dryly. ‘And you’ve not exactly had an easy few days yourself, by the sound of things. It’s no wonder the two of you clashed like that.’ His gaze softens. ‘But I suspect that he regrets that by now. It’s hard enough to find friends in this world without turning away the few who stumble onto your path.’ Magnus tilts his head in capitulation, and Ragnor smiles. ‘Do what you must,’ he says softly. ‘Even if you aren’t sure _why_ you must. And even if what you end up doing is chasing after some ungrateful, shiny bastard to show him that no-one should face this world alone.’

Magnus chuckles, a little wetly. ‘Gods, I miss you,’ he says, his voice scarcely above a whisper.   
‘I know,’ Ragnor says, even as he raises an eyebrow, ‘though for the life of me – or, well, you know – I can’t think why.’ He pulls Magnus in, wrapping his arms around him in a full, comforting embrace, and Magnus closes his eyes, letting the feeling of safety wash over him. ‘I’m never too far away.’

When Magnus opens his eyes again, his father is gone, only the phantom of his embrace remaining.

He dashes away the rest of his tears, taking a deep, steadying breath, and then gets to his feet.   
And promptly realises that all the gusto in the world isn’t going to help him, because he still has no idea where Alexander’s gone.

He frowns, looking around himself as if he’s about to spot the star coming through the trees, as if they didn’t part ways hours ago with Alexander heading in the complete opposite direction. The easiest thing would be to portal to him, but Magnus still hasn’t recovered enough magic for that.   
He reaches into his breast pocket, thoughtfully turning the candle stump over in his fingers – he can always try and find another way to get Alexander home, once they’re reunited… But he quickly dismisses that idea, too; because if they both end up completely lost at whatever location the star’s wandered off to, then what? 

Magnus grits his teeth in frustration, the earlier worry creeping back in. Fuck, he’s somehow ended up solely responsible for a luminescent idiot in a location completely unknown. How is he supposed to-?

_No-one should face this world alone._

An idea lights a spark in Magnus’ mind, worry swept over by the thrill of possibility. He’d been kidding, earlier, when he suggested asking that other star for directions, but…   
He clears his throat and looks up at the sky, taking a brief moment to be grateful no-one’s around to witness his apparent ravings. ‘I don’t know if you can hear me,’ he says, his voice a little loud. He rather doubts it’ll make a difference over that sort of distance, but why chance mumbling and being misunderstood? ‘But if you can, then I need your help. Please.’ He scans amongst the still-lingering clouds, picturing the stars that must be there, even whilst hidden by the daylight. ‘I want to help your friend, the one who fell. Alexander. But I need your help to find him first. So, if you could… give me a sign, perhaps?’ He pauses, waiting for a response.

In the moments that follow, he begins to feel incredibly foolish. People can’t just _talk_ to the stars, that’s –   
Apparently, possible. Because standing before him now is a figure with long, dark hair framing a beautiful, feminine face. A figure wearing the exact same clothes as Alexander.

Magnus’ jaw drops. ‘You’re – ‘  
‘I can’t hold this form for long,’ the star explains hurriedly. ‘So we’ll have to hurry. But if you follow me, I can show you the shortest path to my brother.’

In less than a blink, the star is gone – no, not _gone;_ in their place is a – a _wisp,_ or something. A dim ball of light that hovers at the place the star’s heart must have been a few seconds ago.   
The wisp darts away to the right, entering the shadows of the forest.   
Magnus pushes away the last of his disbelief, and runs after it.

  
***

  
Alexander wakes in darkness, despite the curtains still being open. He curses under his breath – he left them open on purpose, hoping the light would help him stay awake whilst he gathered his thoughts and came up with a plan. Stars may be nocturnal, but he’s hoping to pass as a Downworlder, and it’s a lot rarer for them.

There’s a sudden discomfort in his stomach, and it’s only once the accompanying gurgle comes that he realises what it is. _Hunger._ He knows it by reputation, after years of watching the Downworld spin by – but this is the first time he’s getting first-hand experience of the sensation, and honestly, he’s not impressed. He ate before heading up to his room, for gods’ sakes, not wanting to appear impolite when Lilith offered him some stew. Is he really going to have to deal with this every few hours or so?

Grudgingly, he wraps his white robe a little more securely around himself – it’s heavier and warmer than his regular tunic, which he doesn’t particularly like, but his clothes weren’t exactly fit to be lounging around in after his fall – and leaves the room, heading downstairs as quietly as possible.   
He’s barely reached the bottom when Billy appears out of nowhere, startling him. ‘Hi,’ he says, finding something of a smile. ‘I was just wondering where I might find some food? I’m suddenly hungry.’ He tries to keep his annoyance at that fact out of his voice.

Billy, as earlier, doesn’t say a word. Instead, he tilts his head and makes a strange grunting noise, before trotting off – presumably to find Lilith, who comes and greets Alexander once he’s made his way to the lounge area. ‘Well, hello again,’ she says brightly, the same softness in her gaze from earlier. It puts Alexander at ease somehow, despite his nervousness at the whole situation, and he manages a more genuine smile this time. ‘You must have been exhausted, sleeping through like that. Though I don’t blame you after being caught in that weather.’ She gives an exaggerated shiver, and Alexander relaxes a little, relieved not to have to explain his odd sleeping pattern. ‘Now, Billy tells me you’re hungry, so why don’t you just take a seat, and I’ll bring you something?’   
‘Thank you,’ Alexander says. He takes the same seat as earlier, staring into the fireplace. The movement of the flames is soothing – if he half-closes his eyes, he can even kid himself that the wavering light is the flickering of a nearby star system. Perhaps the Penhallow cluster, neighbouring his own family’s part of the sky.

Lost in thought, and hearing only the crackling of the fire and the tall clock in the corner beginning to chime, he never notices the footsteps behind him.

  
***

  
The wisp stops in front of him, and Magnus takes the opportunity to bend down and lean against his knees, exhausted. ‘Are we – nearly there?’ he asks, his breathing heavy. He closes his eyes, trying to steady it; but he’s largely unsuccessful. They’ve been moving for what must be at _least_ six hours, barely stopping to rest – especially for the last hour or so, when the wisp seemed to pick up the pace, its movements becoming almost frantic.   
‘We’re here,’ the star says, and Magnus glances up to see that they’ve shifted back into their human form, though they’re flickering in and out of focus. ‘I can’t stay any longer,’ they say, and they walk towards Magnus, gazing at him imploringly as he straightens up. ‘My brother’s in that inn just across this field, and I think they’re going to – ‘ The star blinks hard, their voice turning higher and choked. ‘Please, just help him,’ they beg.   
Magnus reaches out on instinct, pleasantly surprised to find the star’s shoulder firm under his fingertips as he squeezes gently. ‘I will,’ he vows. ‘I’ll do everything I can to get him home safely.’   
The star nods. ‘Thank you. Please, hurry, they – ‘  
They’re cut-off mid-sentence, their image blinking out of existence for good this time, not even the wisp left behind.   
Magnus refocuses on the warm glow halfway across the field, and chances one more glance up at the stars before heading towards it, determination renewed.

He reaches the inn, a well-weathered sign designating it as _Lilith’s Rose._ He considers entering, but something about the other star’s bearing gives him pause, and he crosses over to the window instead, keeping low and peering in.   
Alexander’s right there in front of him, facing away from the window and towards a crackling fireplace. Magnus’ gut swoops in relief. Apparently, the stubborn fool hasn’t managed to get himself -   
The sarcastic remark sputters out, his mind’s voice dying to nothing as two figures begin to approach Alexander from behind, slowly. Faintly through the glass, Magnus hears the grandfather clock begin to chime midnight.

There’s the flash of a dagger in the closer figure’s hand.

Magnus doesn’t register moving, just finds himself in the now-open doorway, a warning shout on his lips and a bolt of magic slicing from his hand, knocking the nearest figure off of their feet.   
Alexander leaps up, whirling around and raising an arm to block the downswing from the other, shorter figure, who snarls at him, gaze flicking between him and Magnus before apparently deciding that the warlock is a bigger threat. ‘You shouldn’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong,’ they say, and Magnus’ heart thumps as magic lights up their hands, too.   
The fireball forms too quickly for him to dodge out of the doorway – but Alexander cries out and launches himself at the attacker, knocking them over and throwing the spell off course. Magnus groans as it glances off of his ribs instead of hitting his chest, before staggering forward and pulling the star behind him, backing them both against the wall. Their attacker leaps back to their feet –

And screams as they turn to ash before Magnus’ eyes.

Magnus stares at the spot where they stood, gobsmacked. ‘What-?’  
‘You didn’t think I’d let her hurt you and get away with it, did you?’  
And Magnus’ blood turns to ice in his veins, his magic sputtering at his fists. Because he’s never forgotten that voice, nor the lethal grace of the man who stands now, dusting off his coat.   
Nor the eyes so like his own, that flash in golden green as Asmodeus smiles at him. ‘My boy. Finally, you come back to me.’

Magnus grabs Alexander’s hand and tries to run, but he only gets a couple of steps before the two of them are surrounded by green, sulfuric fire, a bright corridor forming a single path between Asmodeus and the star, Magnus the only barrier.   
He swallows. ‘Father. Please, just – just let us leave,’ he pleads, knowing it will have no impact but unable to think of anything else to do, his thoughts swirling and freezing in equal measure, his pulse still hammering in his ears.   
Asmodeus, as predicted, simply raises an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘Oh, my son,’ he says, false pity dripping from each word like syrup. ‘How the smallness of the world beyond our power has changed you. You used to know better than to beg.’

His father steps forward, and Magnus shrinks back, pressing close against Alexander’s chest in a futile attempt to back them both farther away. ‘Or dare I hope that you’ve simply claimed the heart for your own, looking to take on the decades it grants for yourself?’ he muses. ‘Because I can respect that. I daresay there might even be a deal to be made.’   
‘I won’t – make any deals with – _you,’_ Magnus gasps, a sudden lance of pain shooting through his ribs, and he’s certain he’ll fall – but strong arms come around him, Alexander blessedly managing to avoid his wound but still hold him upright and steady.

Asmodeus smirks. ‘Don’t be so hasty,’ he chides. ‘After all, I’m offering to heal that injury in the blink of an eye – an injury which, if left, will almost certainly kill you – and then take you back under my wing, despite your betrayal.’ He gazes over Magnus’ shoulder, his smile turning a little feral. ‘And all I ask is half the heart for myself, while you take the other and rule at my side.’   
Magnus shakes his head. _No,_ he means to say, though it gets stuck, tangled up in the fear in his throat – because that’s no offer at all, that’s his worst nightmare and gods, all he wants is to go _home –  
_ ‘Home,’ he whispers. ‘Home, I – ‘ he fumbles in his pocket – ‘Alexander, hold on to me –‘

He thrusts his fist into the hellfire, and the portalling candle flares to life.   
The world dissolves around him, and the last thing he sees is his father’s fury.

  
***  
  


Alexander gasps, choking on air and blinking water from his eyes – what the hell, did he actually start _crying -_  
Oh. He’s not crying, he’s just looking up at the rain; he and Magnus must have ended up outside somewhere.   
His eyes widen. _Magnus._ ‘Magnus!’ he yells, sitting up, casting his gaze around, sight blurring with the thick fog coating the ground. _‘Magnus!’_

He finds him a moment later, and his heart skips a beat as he scrambles upright, closing the distance between them in a matter of seconds. ‘Magnus – oh gods, oh _fuck,’_ he whispers, voice tripping over itself as his hands hover, unsure how to help as the blood runs over the blistered skin and seeps into the singed fabric of Magnus’ shirt. ‘No, you – you saved my life,’ he says, and the air around him seems to thin as he drags in each breath. ‘Magnus, don’t – don’t you _dare –‘_  
He cuts himself off as Magnus’ eyes crack open, and he wheezes. ‘G – hu – t’k-‘ He doesn’t manage to form the words, but he lifts his hand, pressing something into Alexander’s palm.   
Alexander looks down, breath catching as he sees the last, tiny stump of the Babylon candle, realises what Magnus is saying. _Take it. Go home._

He shakes his head. ‘No, not until –‘ Until _what,_ exactly? Until he gets Magnus help? He doesn’t even have any idea where they are, where the candle’s taken them.

A second later, there’s an ear-splitting rumble, and the ground he’s kneeling on _flashes._ And suddenly, he knows _exactly_ where they are.   
‘Oh gods,’ he says faintly – because he’s an idiot, a fucking _idiot,_ because Magnus had said _home_ and he’d thought of the fucking _sky_ and now they’re in the gods-damned _clouds,_ in the middle of a thunderstorm -

He’s spared any further self-deprecation when a heavy net falls over them, and Magnus _whimpers_ as the wet rope lands on his wound. ‘No, no, no,’ Alexander mutters, shifting until he’s crouched over Magnus, forming a sort of tent, keeping the ropes away from him. ‘Help us!’ he yells, because a net means _people_ and that means maybe, just maybe – ‘Please, we need help, we need a doctor!’

There’s an agonising few seconds of silence – but then he hears voices, floating towards them, staggering and interrupted as the thunder continues to roll.   
_‘Cap… -ver there!’  
‘Must… -aught on the…’  
‘…the hell are they even _doing in our territory?’ The last voice becomes clear as three figures come into focus, a woman at the front and two men behind her.

Alexander looks up at the woman through the net, meets eyes that are pitch-dark and serious, set against skin only a little lighter than Magnus’. ‘Please,’ he asks again, because they’re just _standing there_ and they need to _do something -_ ‘He’s hurt, he needs help - ’   
She steps closer, looking curiously at Magnus – and Alexander’s stomach drops as her face twists in anger. ‘Bring them back to the ship,’ she orders, tugging at the net; the men hastily follow suit, pulling and gathering it until it slips free of Alexander and Magnus. ‘Take them to the lower decks and don’t let them out of your sight.’   
‘Yes, Captain,’ one of the men says, and the woman nods curtly before turning, striding away towards a massive shadow, only now just visible beyond the nearest cloud bank.   
The men step towards them, reaching out, but Alexander glares at them. ‘Lead the way, I’ve got him,’ he says, in a tone that brooks no argument. He lifts Magnus into his arms as gently as he can, keeping the uninjured side of Magnus’ torso pressed against his own. ‘Hang on,’ he murmurs, his throat feeling oddly tight. ‘I’ve got you.’

The four of them – five, with the woman just ahead – make their way towards the ship, its outline shimmering into clarity as the clouds drift thin around it.   
Alexander holds Magnus close, and prays that they aren’t walking straight back into the line of fire.

  
***

  
The wreckage of the inn smoulders around Asmodeus, the ashes of Lilith long blown away and the boy turned back into a goat and promptly banished. The aftershocks of his power crackle through the air, too angry to care about attracting attention.

His _son._ His thrice-damned son had appeared right in front of him, turned down forgiveness, and then _stopped_ him from getting to the star. How the fuck had he managed to find it so _quickly?_

‘Asmodeus,’ greets a smooth, lilting voice, and he rolls his eyes in irritation. ‘How are you, old friend?’   
Asmodeus forces a smile onto his face, but doesn’t bother to stop gritting his teeth as he speaks. ‘Azazel. Always a pleasure. What do you want?’

Azazel laughs, brushing an imaginary spot off of his lapel. ‘Ah, same old Asmodeus. Straight down to business.’ His eyes flash bright red in apparent amusement. ‘Rumour has it you’re tracking a star,’ he says, almost casually. ‘I wondered if you might be amenable to a… partnership, of sorts.’ He gives a winning smile. ‘I help you catch the star, prep the heart and remove it, and we divide the spoils.’ Azazel cocks his head, spreading his palms wide. ‘What do you say?’

Asmodeus looks at him and smiles. ‘Let me see if I have this right,’ he says pleasantly, strolling forward. ‘You help me catch the star, and take half of the heart.’ He grins. ‘Despite the fact that I know your tracking is rudimentary compared to mine, meaning I’ll be doing all the work,’ he comments, relishing in Azazel’s discomfort as he shifts ever closer. ‘And the fact that you’ve never kept an honest deal in your miserable life. And the fact that I have a personal stake in this situation, while _you_ are simply a power-grabbing opportunist, hoping to hitch a ride on my coattails.’ He bares his teeth in what can hardly be called a smile, now, staring down at Azazel, barely an inch of space between them. ‘You can understand why I have some concerns, hm?’

Azazel, to his credit, barely flinches, and when he speaks, his voice is still smooth and persuasive and even. ‘Oh, come on now,’ he says. ‘I respect your power, Asmodeus, but you know a star’s heart is _finders keepers._ I’m simply saying that if we worked together, we’d likely have a lot more luck being those finders and keepers.’ He smiles in smarmy reassurance. ‘It’s not as though I’m stealing your property, just-‘   
‘Not that that would stop you,’ Asmodeus points out, letting his eyes flash even as his tone veers into boredom. ‘You have a nasty habit of taking what doesn’t belong to you, Azazel.’   
Azazel’s façade, so unfazed until now, wobbles slightly. ‘You – you were done with it,’ he says uncertainly. ‘You said it had served its purpose – ‘

Asmodeus lifts a hand to Azazel’s throat, choking off the words. ‘That doesn’t give you the right to touch what is _mine,’_ he growls – before intoning his voice with magic, twisting his next words into a spell. _‘As that star is mine, heart and carriage. You will not see it, hear it, touch or know it,’_ he whispers.

He releases his grip on Azazel, satisfied at the spelled confusion in the other warlock’s eyes. ‘Go,’ he orders. ‘Carry on about your business, and keep it far away from mine if you know what’s good for you.’   
Azazel nods blankly, turning away. A moment later, he steps into a portal and disappears.

Asmodeus smiles. Now that Azazel’s dealt with, it’s time to move on.   
He has a star to find, and a son to bring home. 


	5. Silver and Gold - Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _‘Your father offered to heal you, and give you half of my heart. You could have been_ dying, _and you still turned him down. I could use a friend like that.’_  
>  _The words hang heavy in the air – an offer, an invitation – and Magnus nods in acceptance of both. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘Luckily enough for you, you have one.’_
> 
> Up in the clouds, explanations come to light.

‘Take them down to my quarters,’ the woman orders once they’re on the ship, and Alexander is led down the stairs, blinking in the soft, strange glow of crackling electric lights. He’d expected darkness, but he’s grateful to be wrong as the last thing he wants to do is lose his footing and drop Magnus.

One of the men holds the door open; Alexander shuffles through sideways, Magnus’ feet first, before heading over to the small four-poster bed and gently laying him down.   
Moments later, the same woman as before reappears in the doorway, but she’s not alone. With her is a dark-skinned woman with her braids twisted elegantly on top of her head, and a man with a slick ponytail who mutters something to the other men, apparently dismissing them.   
‘You were right,’ the second woman says quietly, blinking in apparent astoundment. ‘It really is him.’ She comes and perches on the opposite side of the bed to where Alexander is, and gently brushing the hair from Magnus’ forehead with a sigh. ‘Magnus, what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into, hm?’ she murmurs.

‘Well, let’s find out, shall we?’ the man with the ponytail asks, striding over and earning himself a glare from Alexander as he shoos him out of the way.   
Sparks dance around his fingertips, and Alexander steps back towards him, alarmed. ‘Wait, what are you-‘  
‘It’s all right,’ the darker-skinned woman says, holding up a hand to stop Alexander’s movement. Reluctantly, he takes a seat at the foot of the bed, and the woman smiles reassuringly. ‘Magnus is among friends here, and Lorenzo’s the best at what he does.’   
‘You know Magnus, then?’ he asks.   
‘We grew up together,’ the woman from outside chimes in, taking a seat beside the second woman and clasping their hands together. ‘I’m Dot, and this is Cat. What’s your name?’   
‘Alexander.’

‘Catarina,’ Lorenzo says, reclaiming the attention of everyone in the room. ‘I’ve recalled all of the magic I can from his wound. The rest will have to heal the regular way, and I’m sure I can leave the assessment of that in your capable hands?’   
‘Of course,’ Cat says. ‘Thank you, Lorenzo.’   
Lorenzo inclines his head, then leaves without glancing back. Cat gets up, patting Dot on the shoulder before walking around to where the warlock just was, and lifting Magnus’ shirt to better inspect the injury.   
Alexander swallows. ‘Is he going to be okay?’ He hates how small his voice sounds.   
Thankfully, Cat doesn’t seem to notice, just giving him a relieved nod. ‘Apparently, the main damage was magical. What’s left will probably be sore for a while, but it’s almost superficial.’

She stands, Dot following suit as she walks over to the doorway. ‘We have duties to attend to, but you’re of course welcome to stay with him while he recovers,’ she says, before pointing to a unit just behind him. ‘There are some dry clothes in that dresser, if you want to get changed.’   
‘And I’ll post a couple of guards outside,’ Dot adds. ‘If you need anything else, ask them.’   
‘Thank you,’ Alexander says, and the two women leave, each flashing him a kind smile as the door swings shut.

He quickly changes, disposing of the soaked-through dressing gown in favour of some loose blue trousers and a simple black vest. They’re not built for his frame, of course, the trouser-legs barely reaching past his knees while the top’s lower hem rests just above his hips; but they’re soft and dry, and when he wraps a spare blanket from the end of the bed around his shoulders, he feels the chill start to dissipate from his bones.  
Once he’s sat down on the edge of the bed once more, he turns back towards Magnus, letting out a deep breath. ‘I can’t decide if you’re the luckiest Downworlder I’ve ever seen or the unluckiest,’ he murmurs, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I mean, you want a star, and then you find a star. He walks out on you. You find him again – and I want to know how the hell you managed that, by the way – and you save his life, but your own dad and his lackey nearly kill you in the process. You end up in the middle of gods-know-where, in the _clouds,_ and you’re found by people who just _happen_ to be your childhood friends?’ He chuckles, hearing how it comes out high and incredulous but too exhausted to do anything about it. ‘I’m just saying, I’d complain if I were you. I think the universe may be having some fun at your expense.’

Magnus doesn’t reply, of course. He just sleeps on, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, hypnotically.

  
Alexander isn’t sure how much time passes, though he knows it must be hours. The room is quiet and still, only broken by the occasional visit from Cat or Dot or one of the guards when he requests a drink, or by his own pacing when sitting still proves to be too much. He knows he ought to be using this time to plan, to figure out how he can prove his nature to Magnus’ girlfriend – that is, providing Magnus is willing to re-establish their deal, after Alexander called it off before.   
But he can’t focus for the light of him.

And then suddenly, he’s blinking himself aware, snapping to attention after feeling his head droop forward of its own accord. Okay, apparently it’s been a few more hours than he realised.   
He eyes the space next to Magnus on the bed. It’s a strangely intimate thing, sleeping next to someone, but he’s hoping that Magnus won’t mind. It’s not like he has another option right now.

He lies down on Magnus’ left, curling himself as small as possible in his blanket to give his injured friend the lion’s share of the space, and tries to get some rest.

  
***  
  


When Magnus wakes, it’s to unexpected company.   
He blinks blearily, more than a little surprised, but smiling at the small child sat in front of him. ‘Hello,’ he says – or tries to, anyway. It comes out as a wheeze, and he makes a futile attempt to clear his throat.

The child frowns, holding out a glass of water. ‘Mom and Mama said you’d need this,’ they say, their hands drifting to their tightly-controlled plaits as Magnus takes the glass, winding the hair through their fingers in a motion that smacks of self-soothing.   
He cranes his neck up and sips at the water, managing not to gulp down the whole thing at once, however sorely tempted he is to do so. ‘Thank you,’ he says, his voice regaining some strength, and he settles back down. ‘My name is Magnus. What’s your name, sweetpea?’   
‘Madzie.’ Their gaze flicks to look past Magnus. ‘Is your boyfriend okay?’   
‘My –‘ Magnus turns to look as gently as he can, his breath catching at what he finds. Alexander is slumbering beside him, a little furrow between his brows even in sleep. He looks oddly small, wrapped up in a blanket and curled tightly, and Magnus’ heart seems to give a strange thrum of affection.   
‘I think so,’ he says softly – and then feels his face heat a little, realising what he’s said as he turns back towards Madzie. ‘He’s not my boyfriend, though,’ he corrects.

‘Oh.’ Madzie nods sagely, the bow on their little neckerchief bobbing up and down with the movement. ‘Do you need more water?’   
‘I’d like some, yes. Perhaps I could – ‘ He’s cut off as Madzie waves a hand, sparks dancing at their fingertips as the glass refills. ‘Oh,’ he says, swallowing a lump in his throat. He can’t remember the last time he saw someone else use magic so… _casually._  
‘…I’m sorry,’ Madzie mumbles, and Magnus’ gaze flicks back up to them. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’

Magnus’ jaw works for a moment, his stomach dropping as he realises that he’s given Madzie entirely the wrong impression. ‘You didn’t, sweetpea,’ he says – and he drops his glamour. ‘I just wasn’t expecting to meet another warlock today.’   
Madzie’s entire countenance brightens. ‘They’re really cool,’ they say, a small, delighted smile on their face. ‘Mine’s on my neck.’ They tug down their neckerchief briefly, showing what look to be _gills_ where their neck meets their shoulders. ‘But I can’t glamour it yet, so Lorenzo says I have to wear this.’   
Magnus hums, nodding in agreement even as his heart breaks a little. ‘Well, it looks very pretty on you,’ he says distractedly. So young, and this little one already knows that magic is something others fear, something that warlocks should hide about themselves if they want to stay safe. Victor Aldertree and his ilk have a lot to answer for, he thinks bitterly.

The door opens, then, and Magnus automatically reglamours his eyes as attention shifts to the two people standing there.   
The two _familiar_ people standing there, he realises, a grin taking over his expression.   
Dot is the first to return his smile. ‘Look who’s awake,’ she says, stepping forwards, sitting beside Madzie on the bed and squeezing Magnus’ hand.   
‘I gave him the water,’ Madzie says proudly.   
‘Good girl,’ Dot praises. ‘Now, isn’t it time for your lesson with Lorenzo?’   
Madzie nods, flashing Magnus a beaming smile as she jumps from the bed. ‘Bye, Magnus!’ she says, before darting past Catarina, who’s still stood in the doorway, a soft smile on her lips.

‘She’s a sweet kid,’ he says quietly.   
Catarina laughs, finally stepping forwards to join her girlfriend – no, _wife,_ Magnus realises, catching sight of their silver and gold rings – beside the bed. ‘She is,’ Cat agrees. ‘I hope you don’t mind that we let her in here. She wanted to help, and after your boyfriend fell asleep, we thought it’d be good for someone else to watch over you.’   
There it is again, that same assumption. Madzie must have gotten it from one of her mothers. ‘I don’t mind,’ he says, ‘but perhaps I ought to put this rumour to bed once and for all – Alexander isn’t my boyfriend.’   
‘Oh,’ Cat says, clearly surprised. ‘Well, he must be a good friend, then. He seemed practically beside himself with worry.’

Magnus glances down at the star, his gut doing a funny little twist. _Beside himself?_ ‘Actually,’ he says, his tone more idle than he truthfully feels, ‘we’ve only known each other for a few days. If that.’   
Cat’s brow furrows in apparent confusion – but Dot just smiles. ‘Fair enough,’ she says, in that same easy, accepting way she’s always had. ‘Sometimes people just click, I suppose.’   
‘Yes,’ Magnus murmurs. ‘I suppose they do.’

He gives a bright, cheerful smile. ‘In any case. What about you two, hmm? Is the lightning business everything you dreamed of when you left Wall behind?’

Cat gives him a look that seems to call him out for his deflection, but when Dot starts enthusiastically filling Magnus in about all he’s missed in their lives – their electricity business, the ship and the crew, their adoption of Madzie – she goes along with it, leaning against her wife’s shoulder and adding in pieces of information here and there.   
Magnus feels a fond smile cross his face, seeing their happiness, their easy intimacy. They’ve always been good for each other, ever since they started dating in their last few years of school, and the pair of them have blossomed in a way Magnus suspects they never could have within the confines of Wall.

He listens contentedly for a long time, with Alexander a warm, comforting weight against his side.

  
***

  
Shortly after Cat and Dot leave, one of their crew brings in some food and water, carried in a small sort of wicker hamper. Magnus thanks them, and is grateful when they leave quickly enough to miss the audible rumble his stomach gives at the mere sight of what looks to be chicken with raisins and rice, as well as a bunch of red grapes and a small, buttery-looking cake that smells of cinnamon.   
He lifts out the pitcher of water first, pouring two glasses and setting them on the nightstand, before leaning back against the headboard. He’d needed his friends’ help to sit upright, but he’s fairly certain he’ll be able to make it through the meal without needing to lie down again.

He reaches down, gently shaking Alexander’s shoulder. According to Dot, they’ve been here quite a while, so even if he ate at the inn he’s probably hungry again by now. ‘Alexander,’ he calls quietly. ‘Come on. You should eat something.’   
Alexander’s face scrunches up for a moment, and he opens his eyes – and immediately bolts upright, the blanket falling away and baring his wide shoulders, pooling around his waist. ‘You’re awake,’ he says, somewhat unnecessarily, but Magnus just smiles and nods. ‘Are you okay?’  
‘A little sore, but nothing that won’t heal,’ Magnus reassures him – and _ah,_ there’s that worry Cat was talking about. He swallows, brushing past how touching that is, for now. ‘Thanks to you, by the way,’ he points out, his lips stretching into a small grin as he hands over one of the glasses of water. ‘Nice tackle back there. I wasn’t aware the heavens taught their children wrestling.’

Alexander rolls his eyes, the last of the worry fading from his expression. ‘Ha ha,’ he says flatly – but a moment later he flushes, his eyes widening in apparent realisation. ‘I’m sorry about the – uh – ‘ He gestures vaguely at the spot he was lying before, practically cuddled up to Magnus’ side in spite of their relatively recent acquaintance.   
Magnus chuckles. ‘It’s fine.’ Sure, it’s oddly intimate for someone he knows so little, but they’ve been through a lot, and it’s not like Alexander could control where he moved when he was asleep. ‘Like I say, I owe you my life. I think the least I can do is give you an alternative sleeping arrangement to the floor.’   
Alexander seems to relax somewhat. ‘You don’t owe me anything,’ he points out, a small, sly smile creeping across his face. ‘You saved me first, remember?’   
Magnus pretends to think for a moment. ‘Good point,’ he says, laughing when Alexander rolls his eyes again. Oh, this is going to be _fun._ Now that he’s let his guard down a little, he’s almost _too_ easy to get a reaction out of.

‘What did your friends bring us?’ Alexander asks.   
In answer, Magnus holds out one of the rice dishes. ‘Here. Chicken and rice in some sort of sauce.’   
They’re quiet for a while after that, both apparently too hungry to make conversation while they eat. The sauce turns out to be something spiced and fruity, even on the bites without raisins. It’s surprisingly delicious, and Magnus makes a mental note to tell Raphael about it when they get back to Wall. It ought to make a lovely addition to the lunch menu.

‘Magnus,’ Alexander says eventually, breaking the silence as he reaches the bottom of his bowl. ‘I wanted to ask – how did you find me?’   
Magnus sets down his half of the grapes, leaning back with a sigh. ‘I had a little help,’ he admits. ‘I knew I had to find you, because I didn’t want you wandering the “Downworld”’ – he gestures, making the quotation marks obvious – ‘alone. But I didn’t know where to start.’ He smiles. ‘So, I asked the other stars.’   
Alexander’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘You _asked_ them?’   
‘In a manner of speaking,’ Magnus confirms. ‘I looked up and asked for help to find you, and… someone came.’ He softens his tone, remembering what the other star had said. ‘I think it was your sibling – shorter than you, with long, dark hair? They called you ‘brother’.’   
Alexander swallows hard. ‘Isabelle,’ he whispers. ‘My sister.’ He huffs a laugh, ducking his head. ‘I can’t believe she did that. It must have taken a lot out of her.’   
‘Well,’ Magnus says mildly, ‘she must think that you’re worth it.’

He gives Alexander a moment, letting him process what’s been said so far before continuing. ‘So, she showed me the way to the inn, and I saw what they were about to do to you, and…’ He shrugs. ‘Well. You were there.’

Alexander nods, popping a grape into his mouth and chewing it slowly. ‘The man who was there,’ he says. ‘He called you his son.’   
It’s not a question, and Magnus’ mouth goes dry at even the reminder, but he answers anyway. ‘Yes. His name is Asmodeus, and he’s my father by birth.’ He chuckles mirthlessly. ‘It’s been so long since I ran away from home, I’d begun to hope that I’d never see him again. I suppose I should have known better, really.’   
Alexander’s expression is inscrutable for a few moments, but at the same time it’s almost as if he’s searching for something in Magnus’ eyes – and then he nods. ‘I’m sorry to have led you back into his path,’ he says.   
Magnus snorts. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s hardly your fault that he’s after your heart.’

He winces at the careless phrasing, but thankfully, Alexander doesn’t seem to mind. ‘Yeah, well,’ he mutters, ‘that’s not all I have to be sorry for.’ He clears his throat, his sincere expression shifting into something determined. ‘I shouldn’t have walked out on our deal,’ he says. ‘I was – hurting. But that’s not your fault, and it wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you.’   
Magnus gives him a small smile. ‘You’re forgiven.’   
Alexander nods, swallowing before he speaks again. ‘Look, Magnus – I trust you. And it’s become even clearer to me that trust can be something of a rarity here,’ he says. ‘So, if you’re okay with it… I’d like to take you up on our deal again.’ He pulls out the stump of portalling candle, placing it in Magnus’ palm and gently closing Magnus’ fingers around it. ‘I’ll come back to Wall with you, help you win back the woman you’ve fallen for. And once that’s done, you can help me use the rest of the candle to get home.’

Magnus looks at him for a moment, sees the slight waver of uncertainty behind his apparent surety. As if there would ever be any answer besides the ‘Of course,’ he gives, the one that lowers Alexander’s shoulders a good inch or so. ‘I came after you because I wanted to help you, Alexander. And I’m flattered at your trust; though I must admit, I’m not entirely sure what I’ve done to deserve it so concretely after such a short space of time.’

Alexander smiles. ‘You didn’t take the deal,’ he says. ‘Your father offered to heal you, and give you half of my heart. You could have been _dying,_ and you still turned him down.’   
He carefully tears the cinnamon cake, holding one half out to Magnus. ‘I could use a friend like that.’

The words hang heavy in the air – an offer, an invitation – and Magnus nods in acceptance of both. ‘Well,’ he says, reaching out to take his half of the cake, before raising it in a sort of toast. ‘Luckily enough for you, you have one.’

  
***

  
The light is much lower and warmer through the cabin windows when Catarina and Dot rejoin them. ‘How are you feeling?’ Cat asks almost immediately.   
Magnus smiles. She always was the first-thing’s-first type, even when they were kids. ‘Better,’ he says honestly. ‘Thank you. For asking, and for helping us in the first place.’   
Dot rolls her eyes. ‘As if we were going to let you bleed out in the middle of a thunderstorm,’ she chides, her expression turning more serious. ‘Though, now that you’re feeling better, we do need to know what happened – to a certain degree,’ she adds. ‘Your business is your own, but for the safety of the crew, we need to know whether the trouble you came from is likely to follow you here.’

‘It isn’t,’ Magnus reassures them. He adjusts the pillow he’s leaning against, chuckling as three insistent pairs of hands move to help him. ‘Careful,’ he says. ‘A man could get used to this type of treatment.’   
‘But thankfully he won’t have the chance,’ Cat says dryly. ‘Barring any further complications, you ought to be back on your feet tomorrow.’ She sits back in her chair. ‘Now, tell us how you ended up in the clouds.’

Magnus sighs, a knot of nervousness starting to twist in his intestines once more. ‘All right,’ he says. ‘I should probably start with this.’   
And he lets blue sparks flare gently from his fingertips.

The reaction he gets is… underwhelming, to say the least. ‘Okay,’ Dot says. ‘You’re a warlock. What, was this a spell gone wrong?’   
Magnus gapes, words not quite forming in his throat as they race through his head too fast to catch. ‘No, it – you – _how_ –‘ He pauses, taking a deep breath. ‘Why aren’t you surprised?’ he asks, more calmly.   
‘Madzie told us,’ Cat says gently.   
‘Ah,’ Magnus says, with no small amount of relief reinflating his lungs. ‘That makes sense.’   
‘Oh, and she also told us that you’re a star, Alexander,’ Dot says, almost flippantly.

Magnus’ head whips around, and he stares at Alexander – who, in a miracle of anatomy possibly caused by his skyward heritage, has turned whiter than Magnus would have thought was possible. ‘I didn’t tell her that,’ he says quietly. Magnus reaches out to take his hand in a show of support, unsurprised when it’s caught in a deathlike vice of a grip.   
‘You didn’t have to,’ Dot continues. Magnus catches the spark of amusement in her expression, and sends her a half-hearted, disapproving glare. She always has liked to make an impact, but this – likely unbeknownst to her – is too serious a subject to make such light of. ‘Madzie’s magic is – according to Lorenzo, at least – particularly strong, if largely untrained due to her age. She sensed your nature the minute she walked in the room, I’d bet.’   
‘We’ve told her how important it is that she not tell anyone else,’ Cat says, and Magnus feels Alexander relax at his side. ‘Your secret is safe with us, I promise.’   
‘Thank you,’ Alexander says, relief sincere in his voice.

Magnus smiles in gratitude. ‘All right,’ he says. ‘As to how we ended up here – well, not everyone was as… _charitable_ as you have been upon learning what I am.’ He gives a sad smile. ‘I stopped a fire, magically, and was eyed with suspicion. That, I could handle, but…’ He swallows. ‘Do you remember Camille Belcourt?’   
‘I believe so,’ Cat says. ‘Her father worked in Town Hall, didn’t he?’   
‘Which explains her… _demeanour,’_ Dot adds.   
Cat snorts. ‘You mean that she was a demanding little brat?’  
Magnus laughs a little uncomfortably, shifting in place. ‘She’s more than that façade,’ he insists quietly. ‘We’ve grown close, over the years, and I started to court her, but…’ He clears his throat. ‘After my magic was revealed, she called it off. She’s been raised to believe that warlocks are – incapable of love,’ he says, carefully keeping his voice steady.   
Beside him, Alexander tenses. _‘That’s_ why she called off the courtship?’ he asks. He sounds absolutely incredulous, and almost a little disgusted.   
Which Magnus understands, but – ‘It sounds worse than it is,’ he explains. ‘She just doesn’t understand, it’s not her fault. But if I can show her – ‘

He pauses, turning back to Cat and Dot, electing to ignore the traces of anger in their expressions. They left Wall years ago – he knows Camille’s character now, and that’s all that matters. ‘There was something she said as she left,’ he says. ‘When I asked her how I could prove to her how much I care for her, she mentioned taking a star from the sky. And I know it was a metaphor, but I saw a falling star that night – ‘ he glances at Alexander with a small smile – ‘and I knew I had to take that chance. So, I met Alexander, and he agreed to meet with Camille in exchange for a warlock’s help in getting home, using a portalling candle.’   
‘Babylon candle,’ Alexander corrects quietly, only answering with a faux-innocent shrug when Magnus shoots him a withering look.   
Dot frowns. ‘So, you ended up here in some sort of candle-related teleportation mishap?’   
‘Well – yes, actually,’ Magnus says. ‘But before that…’ He hesitates.

Alexander doesn’t. ‘I called off the deal,’ he says plainly, calmly. ‘I got angry and stormed off. Magnus came after me.’ His tone gentles a little, and he meets Magnus’ eyes with a small smile. ‘He saved my life.’   
Magnus huffs a laugh. ‘And as I keep telling him,’ he says, giving Cat and Dot a world-weary look, ‘he saved mine right back.’   
‘Saved you from _what?’_ Cat asks. ‘Whatever did that to your ribs?’  
Magnus nods. ‘There were two warlocks after Alexander,’ he explains quietly. ‘The one who gave me _this_ – which would likely have been instantly fatal without Alexander’s intervention – was killed by the other, who…’   
‘…Who what, Magnus?’ Cat eventually prompts.   
Magnus takes a deep breath. ‘Who turned out to be my birth father,’ he admits in a small voice. ‘Asmodeus.’

Cat’s breath catches, and Dot’s eyes widen. ‘Shit,’ Dot says. ‘Asmodeus.’ Her face clears from merely shock into outright alarm. ‘Wait – could he follow you here?’ she demands.   
‘No,’ Magnus says immediately, wanting to put her at ease. ‘No. If he could track me, he would have found me years ago. I never would have gotten away from him in the first place.’   
‘So, if he can’t find you magically,’ Cat says, ‘he’s left with non-magical means.’

Magnus tilts his head. ‘Worse than that, from his perspective,’ he admits with a crafty smile. ‘He has almost nothing to go on. He doesn’t even know my name.’   
‘Makes sense,’ Dot says. ‘I’m guessing you changed it after you ran away.’   
‘Didn’t have to.’ Magnus grins a little wider, an odd, vicious sort of satisfaction twisting his lips. ‘Under _our tradition,’_ he scoffs, ‘heirs aren’t named until their tenth birthday, when they officially take up the mantle of apprentice.’   
He blinks, a fondness swelling in his chest to replace the anger. ‘Thankfully, my mother decided to break with that tradition,’ he explains more softly. ‘She’s the one who called me Magnus Bane, and my father never found out.’

Dot nods. ‘Okay, good,’ she says. ‘So, what – you figured that escaping up into the clouds was the best way to escape your ex-father?’   
‘Not quite,’ Magnus says with a small smile. ‘I was trying to get us back to Wall. I’m not entirely sure how I managed to mess that up, if I’m honest with you.’   
‘It was my fault,’ Alexander chimes in, and Magnus looks back at him in surprise. ‘At least, I think it was? It happened so fast, and you just said _home,_ and…’ He shrugs, looking sheepish. ‘As far as I can tell, we ended up somewhere between the two – the home you thought of in Wall, and the home I thought of up in the sky with my family. I should have realised that wasn’t what you meant, I’m sorry.’

Magnus’ mouth works soundlessly for a moment – and then he’s laughing, clearly to Alexander’s surprise. ‘Gods,’ he says, ‘it’s never a dull moment with you, is it, Alexander?’  
Alexander’s expression twitches into a small, careful smile. ‘Yeah, guess not. I’m sorry.’   
Magnus shakes his head, his mirth dying down. ‘Don’t apologise,’ he says warmly. ‘Like you say, it happened too quickly for any proper thinking-through to occur. And I was just the wrong side of delirious to give clear instructions at that point.’ He gestures to Cat and Dot. ‘Besides, it worked out well enough. You managed to instigate a Wall Secondary reunion,’ he teases.

Cat heaves a sigh, but she’s smiling, too. ‘It did work out well,’ she says, ‘lucky for you two. So, we’re guessing that you want a ride back to Wall?’   
Magnus sits up a little straighter. ‘I wouldn’t want to impose-‘   
He’s cut off as Cat gives him a familiar, fond glare. ‘And we wouldn’t offer if we didn’t mean it,’ she says.   
‘We’re heading south anyway,’ Dot adds. ‘We’ll be stopping at Herndon, which is the nearest skyport to Wall, if I’m remembering right.’

Magnus glances at Alexander, who tilts his head in capitulation. ‘In which case, we accept,’ Magnus says. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you.’   
Cat smiles. ‘Don’t mention it. You two have been through quite a lot in the past few days. The least we can offer a friend is room, board and safe passage home.’   
‘Although,’ Dot says thoughtfully, ‘there may be something more we can offer.’ She glances down at Magnus’ hands, then seems to realise what she’s doing and meets his eyes instead. ‘Lorenzo’s teaching Madzie how to better wield her magic,’ she says. ‘Obviously, you have pretty good control, if you managed to keep it hidden all this time, but Lorenzo’s never had to hide his – he’s spent his life travelling between places that have no problem with warlocks, by and large. Do you think you could learn something from him? How to use magic, rather than hide it away?’

Magnus frowns, thinking for a moment. ‘Maybe,’ he allows. ‘I’ve always practiced small things, in secret. It’s how I gained the control I have today. But someone so… _open_ with his magic may have something to teach me.’ He chuckles. ‘If I can afford his fees, that is. Something tells me that magic lessons don’t come cheap.’   
‘They don’t,’ Cat admits. ‘As well as living on the ship, he gets a cut of our profits. But perhaps we can work something out – you help us with the harvest while you’re here, and we increase Lorenzo’s cut while he’s teaching you as well as Madzie. Everybody wins.’   
‘I’d be happy to help out, too,’ Alexander adds, smiling when Magnus turns to him in surprise. ‘What? Gonna need something to do,’ he says with a smirk.   
Magnus smiles softly. He likes Alexander all the more when he’s relaxed enough to show a sense of humour.

He turns back towards Cat and Dot. ‘Well then,’ he says. ‘When shall we get started?’

  
***

  
True to Catarina’s word, Magnus is back on his feet the next day, though he’s strictly forbidden from anything strenuous for a week – including helping with the lightning harvest and earning his magic lessons. _Far be it for me to argue with the Captains,_ he says with a nonchalant smile, ignoring Dot’s knowing smirk and Catarina’s heatless glare, and nodding agreeably when the latter tells him that he should start slowly building up his torso strength with gentle exercise, just in case.

He and Alexander are moved out of the Captains’ Quarters, and given a cabin of their own. _Even has two beds,_ he remarks, and winks at Alexander. _Try not to miss me too much._  
His new roommate tries to hide his laughter with a scowl, and Magnus wonders if a blush _that_ intense is the secret to how stars shine.

Alexander, being uninjured, starts helping out around the ship straight away. Feeling oddly deprived without his travelling companion to spend time with, Magnus wanders the ship, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong and finding every nook and cranny, the way he mapped out his father’s fortress as a small boy. He makes friends with as many of the crew as he can, as well, chatting with whoever happens to be in the mess hall at any particular time, or gossiping with anyone willing to slack off for five minutes in the cargo hold.   
He usually ends up back in their cabin by the time it gets dark, cycling through gradually-increasing sets of aerobics and crunches, pleased when his side barely gives a twinge. That Lorenzo fellow must know his stuff, at least somewhat, which is encouraging.

On the last day of his Catarina-mandated medical leave from his new post, he’s going a little stir-crazy – he’s never been good at doing nothing, else he’d hire a much larger staff at the Ram – and he has to consciously slow himself down when he moves on to push-ups, distracted by the fact that he’s actually _envious_ of how tired Alexander looks as Magnus prattles on about the crew members he talked to today.   
‘Alexander,’ he says exasperatedly, and the star’s eyes fly open for the third time in as many minutes. ‘For gods’ sakes, go to bed.’   
‘No, I’m – I’m listening,’ he protests.

Magnus rolls his eyes, carefully getting back up to standing. ‘That’s exactly the problem. You don’t need to be listening to me right now, you need to sleep. As a matter of fact, once I’ve washed up a little, so do I – I wouldn’t want to be tired for my first day on the job.’   
Alexander grouches a little, rolling himself under the covers from where he’s been sitting upright on his bunk, already in light, comfortable clothes, suitable for sleepwear. ‘I swear, I never had to sleep this much at home,’ he complains, his eyes drooping again. ‘How the hell do you guys get anything _done_ down here?’   
Magnus chuckles, flicking off the soft lightning lamps as he heads into the tiny washroom. ‘Go to sleep, sourpuss.’   
By the time he gets back and crawls under his own quilt, Alexander’s already snoring. Thankfully, Magnus is pretty used to that by now – has been since the first few days – and he easily finds his own rest.

  
Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long. Whether it’s a delayed response from seeing Asmodeus, being cooped up with nothing to do all week, or nerves about tomorrow’s predicted storm and his first time as a lightning farmer, his brain’s clearly not in a very _restful_ place right now. He wakes twice and manages to fall asleep again, but the third time leaves him shuddering, fighting the urge to cry as the images of Ragnor – so frail in his last days – fade, the sense of finality and fear lifting from Magnus’ sleeping shoulders only to echo in his heart’s memory.

He sits up as quietly as possible, trying to clear his head – and immediately noticing that his stealth is unnecessary.   
‘You okay?’ Alexander asks softly, from where he’s perched at the end of his bed, the faintest of blue light from the two portholes on his side of the room defining his features in the darkness.   
Magnus nods. ‘Nightmare,’ he says dismissively. ‘It happens sometimes. Why are you awake so early? I thought you were tired.’  
‘I was,’ Alexander says. But no other clarification comes forth – he simply asks, ‘Do you want to talk about it? Your nightmare, I mean?’   
Magnus sighs, wandering forwards to join Alexander at the foot of the other bed. ‘Like I say, it was nothing out of the ordinary,’ he says. ‘I lost my father a couple of years ago – my real, adoptive father, obviously, the one who left me the portalling candle – and sometimes I just… end up back there, in my mind.’ He clears his throat. ‘Back to his last days, knowing he’s unwell, and knowing that there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Alexander offers quietly.   
Magnus shrugs. ‘It’s in the past now, of course. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t… impact me, significantly. To this day, apparently.’ He swallows, a bare hint of a smile coming to his lips. ‘Actually, that’s how I met Camille.’   
Alexander frowns. ‘The same Camille you were courting, I’m guessing?’   
‘The very same,’ Magnus confirms. ‘I had just taken over the inn, and I was… low, to say the least. But it had been almost a month, and we couldn’t afford to stay closed any longer.’ His smile grows fond at the memory. ‘And that very first day we opened, there she was, stopping in for a meal. And obviously, I saw how beautiful she was, even if I wasn’t exactly in the headspace for courtship – but it was more than that.’ He glances up, out of the nearest porthole. ‘She was so kind to me,’ he murmurs. ‘So… gentle, and understanding. She noticed that I was incredibly down, and asked if everything was okay – and before I knew it, I was telling her everything, because she wasn’t brushing me off, and I knew I wasn’t adding to her own grief because she barely knew him. I told her about my father’s illness, my grief, trying to move on so I could function as innkeeper – and she just _listened,_ so sympathetically. Didn’t even mind when I started crying, just… listened.’ He blinks, willing those tears not to resurface now. ‘She came back the next day. And seeing her again made me smile, for the first time since I lost him.’ He looks back at Alexander, who’s watching attentively, nodding along. ‘I’ve been courting her ever since,’ Magnus finishes softly. ‘That kind of connection with someone is rare, and I knew I wanted to nourish it, cherish it. I thought we could…’ He shrugs. ‘That we could build something special together.’

‘Hence why you want her back,’ Alexander says, and Magnus nods – then raises an eyebrow at the sudden hesitation written on his face. ‘I don’t want to pry,’ he says carefully, ‘but… after why she left, do you think this’ll work? Me meeting her, showing her your devotion?’ He swallows, but keeps going. ‘I mean – it’s kind of you. Going this far for her. But… is it actually going to change anything? Warlock or not, doesn’t she already know what kind of _person_ you are, if you’ve been courting her for that long?’   
Magnus feels his mouth press slightly thinner. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he allows, reminding himself that to an outsider, that must seem like a valid question, and it isn’t deserving of vitriol. He smirks, trying to lighten the mood. ‘But maybe you’re not. After all, feelings and words are so _intangible,_ Alexander. Everyone needs proof sometimes.’  
‘I wouldn’t,’ the star replies – almost instantly, and he drops his gaze, which is only half-successful in masking his embarrassment. ‘I mean – if I cared about someone like that, if I really valued him… I wouldn’t need any proof, or for him to try and win me over with gifts,’ he says quietly. ‘I wouldn’t need – _demonstrations of devotion,_ or whatever.’ He meets Magnus’ eyes again. ‘Only the… _assurance_ that he cared about me too. Whatever form it took.’ He shrugs slightly. ‘Words and feelings would be enough for that.’   
Magnus frowns, because… that’s actually a good point. When he’s given gifts in the past – to Camille, to Ragnor, to his friends – it’s been to _show_ affection, not to _prove_ it.

But still – ‘Perhaps things are different in the… _Upworld,_ or whatever it’s called. Courtship down here can be complicated, to say the least – but it’s worth it in the end,’ he says firmly.   
Alexander nods in capitulation. ‘That’s fair,’ he acknowledges. ‘I mean, I don’t know how it works here – not really. I’ve seen it, but it’s your world. You know best.’   
‘Yeah,’ Magnus says quietly. He hopes so, at least. What else does he have to go on?

Refusing to give in to despair right now – because he knows this feeling, knows that’s where it’s headed – he goes back over to his own bunk. ‘We ought to get some more sleep,’ he says, shooting Alexander an easy smile, hoping to dissolve the last of the heavy air the previous conversation exhaled. ‘We’ll have to be up soon to help with the harvest, and judging by what I’ve seen, it’s hard work.’

Alexander smiles a little in return. ‘It is,’ he says, clambering back into bed. ‘But it’s alright. Sure it’ll be easier with you helping, too.’   
Magnus warms slightly at the praise, closing his eyes and settling back down. ‘Flatterer,’ he says tiredly, pleased to hear a tiny huff of laughter from the other side of the room.

He’s asleep shortly after that, and this time, he manages not to dream.


	6. Silver and Gold - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Up in the clouds, Magnus and Alexander get to know each other a little better every day.

In the haze of harvesting routine, days pass quickly.

Each day, Alexander rises, eats (he’s learning to appreciate food somewhat, even if it is still _weird),_ and then gets to work, eager to be busy.   
If they’re lucky, they catch a storm early in the day. Alexander stands amidst the rest of the crew, all of them being pelted with raindrops the size of cherries, and throws his weight against a huge net, helping to cast it wide. They wait until the lightning strikes – once, twice, three times if they can – and then heave it in together, bodies working in the rhythm cried out by a shrill crewman in the halfway-nest. They wear rubberised gear to protect them from the electricity (which is a little cumbersome, but a damn sight better than electrocution, of course), but Alexander still feels his hair stand on end as the net is thrown past and onto the top deck, and it only settles once Lorenzo’s completed the process, channelling the lightning into a storage cylinder. From there, it’s taken down to the hold, locked away securely with the rest that Cat and Dot’s crew have gathered on the voyage so far – but Alexander’s only seen that a couple of times, his unfamiliarity with the storage system meaning that he’s more valuable as muscle on the top deck.

Other days, the ship wakes to clear skies, cold and crisp as they are above the lowest clouds. On those days, Alexander starts by training. He has a certain innate strength given by his frame alone, the way stars manifest as they fall. But he works his new body as far as he can, wanting to know that each muscle is strong and ready, each reflex honed razor-sharp.   
He’s already learned the hard way that the Downworld is dangerous, and he doesn’t want to be caught out again.   
Dot catches him one day, working out on his own, and instead invites him to her fencing practice, the sessions she runs twice a week to ensure the crew can defend themselves against piracy. ‘You obviously have some raw skill in hand-to-hand combat,’ she says, ‘and fencing can help you refine that, as well as teaching you to effectively use a weapon.’   
It’s slower going, at first. He’s unused to taking such finicky control of things _outside_ of his own being, unused to wielding anything other than the fists and feet that feel a part of him. But as the weeks pass, he gets the hang of it; he’s not the best swordsman on the ship, but he’s not the worst, either.

The rest of the time – when his body is tired of training and the skies are too clear for a harvest – Alexander climbs up to the halfway nest, empty but for the crier during a storm, and watches. Mortals, he’s discovering, are interesting up close. For all that they seem as waves from the ‘Upworld’, as Magnus has dubbed his home, from theirs they seem more like ripples, individuals shaping the world around them little by little. Down here, they don’t look so different to the stars themselves. It’s a humbling thought, but it also makes him feel less alone.

  
One morning, he wakes with a dull pain in his left leg, and grimaces as he remembers the sharp twist of losing his footing the day before. Gods, he’s so _fragile_ down here, so vulnerable to something as simple as _movement._ If it weren’t so frustrating, it might be funny.   
Still, he forgoes training for the day, and after breakfast, he gingerly climbs straight up to his regular perch.

Of course, it being so much earlier than usual, the deck is empty in the blue dawn light, and instead, his gaze is drawn upwards.   
_I miss home,_ he thinks. _I miss you._  
As if summoned by his thoughts, a light appears, halfway between the horizon and the highest dome of the sky, and a thrum of familiarity echoes in Alexander’s blood. He frowns, not recognising the sudden pain in his throat, tries to swallow it down and breathe into lungs that for some reason feel half their usual size -  
He blinks, and wetness tracks down his cheeks. Oh. _This_ is crying, then.

With that recognition, he gives into it, uncaring of how his breath shudders and his voice catches on uncommanded syllables. The pain in his throat fades, but it still _hurts,_ hurts indeterminably as he grips the edge of the nest strongly enough to numb his hands.   
‘Alexander?’  
He squeezes his eyes shut, as though he can force the tears out quicker and end his crying that much sooner. ‘Magnus,’ he says – an acknowledgement, no more, but the crying betrays even that, turning the word into a plea of some sort; for what, he doesn’t know.   
Magnus seems to, however. He steps close, turning Alexander into his arms, allowing him only a glimpse of sympathy before his face is hidden in Magnus’ shoulder.

Alexander leans in, breathes in another wracking, quiet sob – and… _huh._ This is _better,_ somehow. Because Magnus isn’t the light of his family or the sky they sail through, but he’s that same constant down here, something Alexander hadn’t realised he’s come to rely on so much. They don’t spend every minute together, of course – Alexander has his time alone in the halfway nest, Magnus has his warlock lessons with Lorenzo and Madzie – but they’ve spent enough time together in the last few weeks that Alexander has grown used to that quiet hum of companionship under his restless skin, can take comfort from it now, in his moment of hurt.

Eventually, of course, the tears run dry, and Alexander stands up tall again. Magnus smiles at him, keeping a hand on his shoulder – and giving a flourish with the other, summoning a glass of water.   
Alexander chuckles at the display of magic, taking the glass. ‘Thank you,’ he says, swallowing it down quickly, unsurprised when the empty glass disappears from his hand.   
The two of them stand side by side, now, gazing out at the horizon – or, in Alexander’s case, above it, at that persistent point of light, stubborn and eye-catching against the growing dawn.

It only takes a few moments for Magnus to break their silence. ‘You don’t have to talk about it,’ he says. ‘But if you’d like to, I’ll gladly listen.’   
Alexander sighs. ‘I miss home,’ he says simply. ‘I miss my family. I don’t know, I think it just – hit me all at once, for some reason.’   
Magnus hums. ‘Well, to put it mildly, you have been fairly busy since your fall,’ he points out. ‘Perhaps this is the first chance you’ve stopped running long enough for the feelings to catch up with you.’ His voice drops to a low, mild murmur. ‘Grief is funny like that.’   
Alexander nods, because that makes a lot of sense. If he’s completely honest with himself, the reason he threw himself into this training and harvesting routine was to conserve the momentum he’d had. It’s very possible that on some level, he knew that without that, the pain would find him as soon as he stood still.

Magnus leans a little closer, gesturing whole-handedly towards the single star in the sky. ‘Not that it’s any of my business, Alexander – but is that a friend of yours, by any chance?’ he asks.   
Alexander glances away, just for a second, meeting Magnus’ eyes. ‘Brother.’   
Magnus’ eyes widen, and he looks back out at the sky, nodding in apparent understanding. ‘I see. I’m sorry. What’s his name?’  
Alexander looks back out, too, smiling at the way the light sparkles all the brighter for the first sunbeams creeping over the clouds, now. _Stubborn bastard._ ‘Jace,’ he says.   
‘Tell me about him?’ It’s an offer Magnus makes, not a request for his own benefit.

It’s an offer that Alexander accepts, too. ‘Well,’ he says, his smile widening, ‘for starters, we’re nothing alike. He’s brash, and hot-tempered, and barely ever thinks before he speaks. The whole reason he took on the role of morning star was because he liked the idea of shining during the daytime, of bucking the trend.’   
Magnus chuckles. ‘He sounds like quite a character.’   
‘You could say that,’ Alexander agrees. ‘The other thing about him,’ he says, his tone softening, ‘is that we’re incredibly alike.’ He glances at Magnus, huffing a breath of laughter at his raised eyebrow. ‘I know, but it’s true. For all that he’s impulsive and rash, he’s loyal to a fault, too. And he’d do anything for a family member or a friend.’

Alexander swallows, unwilling to welcome back the uncomfortable lump in his throat so soon. ‘He’s the last thing I remember from before I fell,’ he says, voice barely above a whisper. ‘It happens, sometimes – it’s just random, because there are gaps in the sky that shift under us, and sometimes the place you’re standing just… falls away, and takes you with it.’ He takes a deep, steadying breath. ‘He was right beside me when I fell, and I remember him reaching for me, trying to grab ahold of me and stop me from falling. I half expected him to cast himself down behind me after he lost his grip – one of the others had to hold him back, I’d bet.’

He glances over at Magnus again, and sees him nod. ‘Sounds like you’re quite the pair,’ Magnus says. ‘Two sides of the same coin, hm?’  
Alexander gives a half-smile. ‘Yeah. We balance each other pretty well, I think.’ He looks back out, his stomach giving a strange twist when Jace flickers in the sky. He won’t be visible from this vantage point for much longer. ‘It makes us good at our jobs, at least,’ he says, not moving his gaze. ‘Morning star and evening star. If there’s no connection between the two, it’s a lot harder to channel the energies you have to, or even just pierce light through the atmosphere. No-one really understands why, because it’s not like you ever share the visible sky – but it has to be a partnership to work properly.’

At that moment, Jace flickers out for good, and emptiness pangs in Alexander’s gut.

For a few more minutes, he and Magnus stand together in silence, the only sound the gentle _whoosh_ of wind against the cloud edges and the gentle stirring of the gradually-occupied deck below.

Magnus’ next words take him by surprise. ‘I owe you an apology, Alexander,’ he says softly.   
Alexander’s attention is immediately dragged back to his companion, a frown settling across his brow. ‘What?’ he asks, more than a little confused. ‘Magnus, you don’t owe me an apology.’ The idea is inconceivable – ever since they started travelling together, Magnus has been a godsdamn _blessing,_ keeping Alexander centred and safe and _hopeful._  
But Magnus meets his gaze with a sad, apologetic smile. ‘The first day you were here,’ he explains – quiet, but insistent. ‘When we argued. I made a comment about asking that other star for help; and it was Jace, wasn’t it?’   
Alexander blinks, lost for words. He’s purposefully not brought up their argument since telling Cat and Dot about it, and he assumed Magnus had forgotten what ignited it by now.   
Apparently not, though, and his silence is seemingly confirmation enough, because Magnus nods, his smile smoothing out into something more serious. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘You’d just fallen, and there I was, pointing out someone you loved and had just been torn away from.’ He laughs, though there isn’t much humour in it. ‘No wonder you went off on your own. That was incredibly insensitive of me.’

Alexander reaches out, taking hold just above Magnus’ elbow, his thumb moving gently across the muscle there – because he doesn’t quite have the _words,_ not yet; but he wants, _needs_ Magnus to know that they’re okay. ‘You didn’t know,’ he manages after a few moments. ‘There was no way you _could_ have known – until I fell, you didn’t even know we were _people,_ for crying out loud. You were expecting a damn _rock.’_ He gives a half-smile. ‘Besides, I think we’re even from that morning. No matter how upset I was, running out on the deal we’d made was kind of a dick move.’   
Magnus laughs again, but this time, it’s genuine. ‘Well, it’s in the past now,’ he says. ‘I suppose the important thing is that we made it here, hm?’   
‘Yeah,’ Alexander says, leaning back against the railing. ‘You’re right.’

Magnus sighs, looking back out at the horizon, the smile falling from his face and being replaced with something… _sturdier,_ somehow. Determination, or focus, or something similar. ‘We’ll get you back home, Alexander,’ he vows. ‘The portalling candle needs connection to the earth for the magic to work, otherwise I’d do it right now. But the second we make port, I can light it for you, and I swear that I will.’   
Alexander frowns, baffled. ‘Magnus,’ he says slowly, ‘aren’t you forgetting something? Your half of our deal? The one I _just_ told you I was wrong to walk out on?’  
Magnus looks back at him – and he has the audacity to look _surprised,_ for goodness’ sakes, as if _Alexander_ is the one not making any sense. ‘Alexander, that was before I came up here to find you _crying,’_ he says, a frown gracing his own brow. ‘I’m not going to hold you to ransom here just so you can help me with a _courtship problem._ What kind of a monster do you take me for?’

Alexander stares at him – and then shakes his head, a smile growing to replace his frown. ‘Magnus,’ he says, ‘you’re in love. And at the risk of sounding clichéd, love’s the best thing about any world – especially this one, and trust me, we’ve been watching over for long enough to know that.’ He lets out a deep, content breath, leaning one elbow against the railing again. ‘I can spare a few more days after we make port; I agreed to our deal for a reason. A moment of homesickness doesn’t take that back. You’re sending me home, the least I can do is this favour in return for that.’   
Magnus looks at him, scanning his expression as if looking for honesty – and apparently, Alexander passes muster, because Magnus slowly nods. ‘If you’re _sure,’_ he stresses. ‘And you have to let me know if you change your mind, if you don’t like the terms of our deal any more. We can work something else out.’   
‘I will, if it comes to that,’ he promises. ‘But honestly, I don’t see it happening, Magnus.’ He turns fully back towards the horizon, dropping onto both forearms and watching a swirl of cloud dance in the golden sunlight. ‘After all you’ve done for me, why wouldn’t I want to do this for you?’

There’s movement beside him – and then Magnus is there again, leaning against the storm-smooth wooden railing, close enough that their arms brush together. ‘You’re a kind man, Alexander,’ he murmurs. ‘And I swear to you, as soon as you tell me that you want to go home – whether that’s the second we make port, or the moment after you meet Camille – I will help you get there.’

And Alexander smiles, because how can he do anything but trust that to be true?

  
***

  
The target explodes, filtering into sawdust before the splinters can strike out at the sides, though the ones that went _upwards_ are left alone, burying themselves in the ceiling.   
Magnus grins at the result, and waves a hand. In a matter of seconds, the target completely reforms into its original state as a plank of wood, without so much as a misshapen circle of ink in the centre. Another flash of magic later, and the wooden beam above is knit fully back together, no sign of the holes Magnus just made.

Over to the side, Lorenzo hums. ‘Passable,’ he says. ‘You could have had a little more momentum, but I suppose nobody’s perfect.’   
_Except for me,_ his tone seems to imply – but Magnus is too happy about that last shot to be more than passingly exasperated by his tutor’s arrogance, rolling his eyes as he turns back into his attack stance. Besides, Lorenzo may be an arrogant bastard but there’s no denying that he’s _good_ at what he does, so it’s probably in Magnus’ best interest to stay on his good side, for now.

‘I think we’re done for the day,’ Lorenzo says, and Magnus drops out of his stance into a more casual stand, turning to face Lorenzo as he does. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d like a chance to set up in here before Madzie comes by for her lesson.’   
Magnus inclines his head graciously. ‘Of course,’ he says, with _barely_ any mockery of Lorenzo’s pomp and circumstance, honestly. It’s either subtle enough or Lorenzo is apathetic enough that he doesn’t comment, just nods in acknowledgement – before stepping into the centre of the room and summoning several tall mirrors with his flouncy hand movements, his body stiller than Magnus likes to keep his own when casting.   
Magnus turns towards the door – and barely gets two steps before he’s struck speechless, freezing in place.

‘…Magnus?’ Alexander sounds like he’s frowning. Abruptly, Magnus realises that that’s something he ought to be able to _see,_ and he shoots his gaze upwards from the bare chest he was unabashedly staring at, meeting Alexander’s eyes and feeling _extremely_ grateful that he’s not the blushing type. _Back in the moment, Magnus,_ he scolds himself, even as he pastes on a wide, teasing grin. ‘Alexander,’ he purrs, the very image of an incredibly forward flirt. ‘What a lovely surprise. Apologies for the moment of silence, but I needed a second to process just how impressed I am. I can see that _someone’s_ been hard at work with their training lately.’   
Alexander rolls his eyes, taking Magnus at his teasing implication, and Magnus sighs inwardly. Crisis averted. He’s not averse to checking out handsome men, but it’s bad form to ogle one’s friends when they feel comfortable around you. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime, and the horizon’s clear,’ Alexander says, smiling at Magnus. ‘I was wondering if you were hungry and wanted to come and grab some food with me before we get busy this afternoon?’   
Magnus returns the smile, stepping forward and linking elbows with Alexander companionably, feeling the exercise warmth against his own skin, bared below the mid-bicep in preparation for magic training.

They start to leave – and then jolt to a stop as Madzie almost runs into them. ‘Oh!’ Magnus says, his surprise quickly shifting into a fond smile. ‘Hello, sweetpea. Are you ready for your lesson?’   
Madzie nods, and flashes a shy smile at Alexander before barrelling past the two of them, running up to Lorenzo and excitedly starting to chatter at him about her most recent displays of magic – lighting and extinguishing and _re_ lighting the lamps in her quarters, as far as Magnus can tell.   
He tugs on Alexander’s arm, chuckling at how he’s staring after Madzie with a slightly wondering expression. ‘Come on – lunchtime,’ he says. ‘I’m sure that we’ll get the chance to hear about her magical exploits for ourselves later.’

  
Instead of eating in the cozy mess hall, they gather some food from the servery – goat’s cheese, short and savoury biscuits, and sweet spiced apple chutney – and pack it into a small wicker basket Magnus made. One which he’s inordinately proud of, by the way. _Summoning_ is one thing, and can be fairly easy depending on the distance; and magical _attacks_ are almost second nature, even to a beginner, nothing more than letting loose the fire and lightning in one’s blood. But this? Weaving the scraps of rope from an old lightning net into the proper shape in a matter of seconds, and then transmuting the hemp into reeds? For all that it’s small-scale, it’s complex magic he never would have managed a few months ago, and it’s unbelievably gratifying to have such solid proof that his hours of practice – both with Lorenzo and without; both during his off-time throughout the day, and during the night hours, when he wakes in darkness and lets his power flow between his hands like a cat’s cradle, lulling him back to sleep – are paying off.

They take their picnic up to the halfway nest. It’s a grey day, today; Dot’s expecting that they’ll come upon a storm in the next few hours, and the cloud banks are rolling out far from its epicentre, though thankfully not offering any rain yet. After Magnus found Alexander in his moment of homesickness the other day, they’ve been spending more time up here – Magnus was worried that he’d be intruding, at first, but when he raised that concern aloud Alexander seemed almost baffled. _Why would I mind? I like your company,_ he said, as if it was the most obvious, easy thing in the world, instead of one of the sweetest things Magnus thinks anyone has ever said to him.

Honestly, Magnus still isn’t one-hundred percent certain why Alexander likes it up here so much. It’s not particularly comfortable, with the wind buffeting against them, and without the thin, soft padding found on the mess hall benches and chairs. Most often, it’s slightly cold, and it moves more than the rest of the ship, and it’s not even particularly quiet because the deck below is often busy with navigational activity.   
Still, Magnus has his theories – Alexander’s a people-watcher, for one thing, which makes sense for a star. Plus, whilst Magnus doesn’t know much about the Upworld, he’s still fairly certain that Alexander doesn’t have a lot of experience being enclosed in buildings or ships, rather than out in the wide open space and nothingness. Combining those two factors with just generally being _up high,_ it paints a compelling picture.   
So no, Magnus isn’t _certain_ why Alexander likes it so much up here – but if he had to give it a one-word guess, that word would be _familiarity._

He’s actually been meaning to ask Alexander about it – not only to satisfy his own curiosity, but because he thinks it might help to talk about such things. Magnus has felt better every time he’s confided something in his new companion, and he prides himself on returning favours, because it makes the world spin so much more fairly in his opinion.   
That topic doesn’t seem to be on the cards today, however, because Alexander is currently sitting in uncharacteristic silence – one which is different, and heavier, than his regular stoicism and general reserved nature – and staring down at his food, looking for all the world as if he’s simply lost in thought… if it weren’t for the furtive glances he keeps sneaking up at Magnus.

Eventually, Magnus has had enough. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asks. He keeps his voice neutral, but he latches on to Alexander’s gaze insistently, urging him to drop the façade.   
Which he doesn’t, not yet, instead giving an exaggerated shrug and pulling an entirely unconvincing blank face. ‘What could be wrong?’ he asks.   
_Ah-ah, that’s not really an answer,_ Ragnor’s voice seems to echo, and Magnus smiles. ‘I don’t know, Alexander,’ he says gently. ‘But whatever it is, you know I’m happy to act as a sounding board, hm?’

Alexander hesitates – and then deflates, looking ruefully at Magnus. ‘I thought I was being subtler than I was, clearly,’ he mutters. ‘I’m sorry.’   
‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ Magnus says easily. ‘What’s on your mind?’   
Alexander looks at him seriously. ‘I have a question,’ he says, ‘and I don’t know if it’s rude, so if you don’t want to answer it, you don’t have to, all right?’   
Magnus nods, gesturing for him to continue.

‘All right,’ Alexander says. ‘Do you have gills?’  
Magnus blinks. ‘Gills?’ he asks, bemusedly. ‘No, I don’t, Alexander. I’m not… aquatic, or amphibious, or… whatever. Where did you get that idea?’   
Alexander shakes his head. ‘I didn’t mean that you were,’ he says, ‘but just – Madzie, earlier. I saw those – _slits,_ on the side of her neck, and I was just wondering if you… had them. If it was a warlock thing.’

Magnus lets his dawning realisation show on his face. _‘Oh,’_ he says, nodding slowly. ‘No, I don’t have them – but I understand what you mean, and actually, your instincts are fairly spot-on.’ He smiles. ‘All right, Alexander – introduction to warlocks, lesson one. Apart from our magic, the main difference between warlocks and non-magical people is that warlocks each have a ‘mark’. Some sort of… _extra_ physical feature – one that is unusual, by non-magical standards.’   
‘Like gills,’ Alexander says.   
‘Like gills,’ Magnus confirms. ‘But just _what_ that mark is varies from warlock to warlock. Sometimes, a similar mark will run in families – for example, one of Madzie’s birth parents may also have had gills – but each one is still slightly unique, like a fingerprint.’ He sighs, looking down at the biscuit he’s unconsciously started crumbling the edge of in his lap. ‘The most likely reason you didn’t already know all of this is that most warlocks hide our marks,’ he says quietly. ‘In a lot of the world, magic is feared. If we hide our marks, it helps us to blend in with non-magical society better, and stay safer that way.’ He snorts. ‘After all, you remember me telling you what happened when I revealed myself as a warlock.’   
‘I remember,’ Alexander says gently.   
Magnus looks back up at him, a bittersweet smile on his lips. ‘Hiding my mark was one of the first things my real father asked me to do,’ he says. ‘The day after he took me in. I was lucky that he was open-minded about magic, but he knew I’d be safer if I could blend in.’

They’re quiet for a few more moments – and then Alexander shifts a little, softly nudging his knee against Magnus’, reclaiming his attention. ‘Thank you,’ he says sincerely. ‘For telling me that.’   
He turns back to his food, spooning a small heap of the cardamom-apple sauce onto his last biscuit and no longer looking less-than-surreptitiously at Magnus’ neck. It’s clear that although the question must be burning inside him – Magnus knows it would be for him, in Alexander’s position – he respects that the conversation is over.  
But in equal measure, Magnus realises that he doesn’t _want_ the conversation to be over. ‘Alexander,’ he says quietly. He receives a hum in acknowledgement, but stays quiet until Alexander’s eyes meet his again.   
And then he drops his glamour.

The reaction is instantaneous. Alexander’s jaw drops, and his eyes widen, and Magnus’ stomach twists – but then Alexander is _smiling,_ leaning forward, _taking Magnus’ chin in his hand_ as if to get a better look - ‘Magnus, they’re beautiful,’ he breathes.   
A moment later, he lowers his hand, and his smile gentles from wonderment to simple warmth as he sits back again. ‘Thank you for showing me,’ he says. ‘Thank you for trusting me with this.’

Magnus realises that he’s smiling, too, the nervous twist in his gut replaced by an affectionate flutter. ‘Of course, Alexander,’ he murmurs. ‘Of course I trust you.’   
More than pretty much anyone else he’s ever known, he muses. Even his closest friends, even when they found out about his magic, weren’t made privy to his mark. But up here in the halfway nest, showing Alexander this part of him doesn’t feel like exposing his inner self so much as trusting someone else to shelter it.

When on earth did Alexander start feeling like _home?_


	7. Silver and Gold - Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and Alexander spend their last day on the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another alcohol warning for this chapter.

‘We ought to reach Herndon by tomorrow.’  
Alexander glances up at Cat across the breakfast table – the captains don’t have a particular one, preferring to eat with the crew, but they tend to opt for one by a porthole, he’s noticed – and the butter knife pauses over his still-warm bread. ‘Already?’ he asks.  
Cat tilts her head, frowning a little, though a smile tugs at her lips. ‘It _has_ been nearly four months since the pair of you joined us,’ she says. ‘Though I suppose we ought to be flattered, if the time’s flown past for you that quickly.’  
‘Right, yeah, of course,’ Alexander says, staring down at the butter as he determinedly spreads it into every little air pocket. ‘Guess it’s just been so busy that I hadn’t realised.’

That, at least, is true. In the past four months he’s noticed his feet grow ever steadier as they work the harvest, has seen the muscles in his arms and legs grow more defined and responsive from the physical work and training.  
Though honestly, his transformation is nothing compared to Magnus’. When they started, he would have called Magnus _slender,_ perhaps, or _lean._ Now, the same shirts he wore when they came on board strain at his shoulders and arms – and gods, for the sake of his sanity and dignity right now, Alexander’s not even going to _think_ about the times he’s seen Magnus _without_ a shirt. He’s always been good-looking, but the extra musculature suits him in a way that has Alexander trying to stand _away_ from him during a harvest, now – Magnus probably thinks that he’s just made friends with enough of the crew that he doesn’t need to stick close anymore, and Alexander has no interest in correcting him.

After all, _I stand away from you because you’ve become hugely distracting to the point I’m worried about electrocuting myself_ is… embarrassing, to say the least.

On a significantly less-mortifying note, it’s not just Magnus’ body that’s undergone a transformation. His magic’s also benefitted from the tireless practice, Alexander’s pretty sure – not only does Magnus _use_ it more and more, as if it’s become second nature, but it also seems to _surround_ him. It’s something that Alexander doubts the mortals around him notice, but he can _see_ it, _feel_ it whenever Magnus is close enough. Maybe that’s also why Magnus seems… lighter, these days. Perhaps having an avenue to use his considerable power and a well-trained relationship with it is settling over his soul like it settles over his skin, making him more and more likely to laugh, or gift Alexander one of those heart-stopping, genuine smiles that trigger an automatic reciprocation, and make him realise why mortals coined that (previously ridiculous to him) phrase, _butterflies in my stomach._

 _Or perhaps,_ Alexander reminds himself sternly, _it’s because he’s getting closer to his home, and he’s looking forward to seeing his friends and his family and the woman he’s_ in love _with._

His good mood safely deflated by sharp reality, Alexander tunes back in to the conversation, Cat smiling contentedly as she talks, her hands moving gracefully in front of her as she emphasises her point. ‘We’re exceeded our estimated yield by nearly seventy per cent,’ she’s saying. ‘It’s… unheard of.’ She chuckles. ‘I’ll be sad to let you two go at Herndon, honestly. There’s every chance you’re our good luck charms.’  
Alexander smiles, and in the seat next to him, Magnus laughs quietly. ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll pick up a couple more strays to take our place,’ he assures her. ‘You two have always been smart like that.’  
‘Damn right,’ Dot says, a cocky grin on her face. ‘In any case, since we’ve ended up so far ahead on the business side of things, we’re having a pre-port celebration tonight.’ She winks. ‘It’s an excuse to use up the rest of the booze, mostly, ready to restock – but in any case, everyone who wants to comes out on deck, and we spend the night having a proper celebration.’  
‘I see,’ Magnus says, and he steeples his fingers, raising an eyebrow at Dot. ‘And being as you’re clearly involved in organising this, I’m assuming that in addition to drinking, there will also be dancing?’  
Dot would almost look affronted, if it weren’t for the huge smile still on her face. ‘Of _course,’_ she says. ‘Don’t think you’re getting out of dancing with me, Bane. For you, it’s mandatory.’  
Magnus chuckles. ‘I have missed our skip jives,’ he says.

They finish breakfast, and before Magnus leaves for his final session with Lorenzo, he turns to Alexander and clasps his shoulder. ‘Lunch in the halfway nest?’ he asks, a bright smile on his face.  
Alexander tries to muster one of his own. ‘Hey, it’s tradition now,’ he points out. ‘I’m not gonna bail on you for our last day.’  
Magnus smirks, and then squeezes his shoulder briefly before heading out.  
Alexander lets his smile drop.

Today, he doesn’t head to one of the lower decks to train, as he usually does. Nor does he head up to the halfway nest. Parties mean decorations, and so the top deck will probably be a hive of activity, because gossip travels like a hungry greyhound on this ship and word about the party is likely common knowledge by now. Which in turn, means hustle and bustle as people prepare, and Alexander just wants… quiet, at least for a while. 

So instead, he heads to his and Magnus’ quarters, and lies down on top of his covers. But while that makes him physically comfortable, it doesn’t help his mental state at all, because he _knows_ this room and this bed and the company inside it – and he’s nowhere near ready to give it up.  
There’s a pang of longing in his chest, and for all that he and his siblings might lovingly call each other idiots he’s too smart not to be honest with himself. He’ll miss this boat and its people, sure. He’s grown used to them. But still, they’re not _his_ people, and this is not his home, and for all that they’re bright and beautiful and kind they pale in comparison to the welcoming promise of the sky.

Magnus, though…  
Magnus doesn’t.

Alexander groans in frustration, turning over and burying his head in his pillow, as if the sudden darkness will help him think straight. The crew may not be ‘his’, but _Magnus_ isn’t ‘his’ either, for crying out loud. He has a home and a family to go back to, just the same as Alexander does. What’s more, he has a courtship waiting, a woman he loves who he wants to win back and the whole _point_ of this for him was that Alexander was going to help him do it. Why the hell should Alexander feel so _attached?_ What in all the worlds could provoke such a stupid response, so far removed from logic and reality?  
He turns back over again, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling until they blur slightly.

Alexander spends the rest of the morning thinking in circles, feeling a pain he knows he has no right to – and desperately, desperately trying _not_ to call the reason for all of it _love._

  
***

  
Magnus steps out onto the deck and immediately feels a smile spread across his face. The sun’s just going down, the natural light shifting into a subtle blue, but the deck remains well-lit – traditional oil lamps line the railings on each side and fill the halfway nest, while the rigging is lit by strings of what must be small electric lights for the way they hold steady despite the breeze. Between all of that and the sparkle of the crew below – there must be about two-thirds of the company out on the deck, getting a drink from the improvised bar up by the helm or simply standing around and talking, and sailors like these don’t carry a _lot_ but they clearly have some _special occasion_ provisions, silks and satins and the odd bit of jewellery – the whole image is soft and golden.

‘You still scrub up okay, I see,’ Cat says, wandering over and assessing him.  
He grins, turning in a circle for her benefit, because he’s always enjoyed playing up his _show-off_ side around her. He has outdone himself, it must be said; he spent more time on his outfit than he’d care to admit, coaxing out his more delicate magic and making sure that the waistcoat was properly tailored to sit close but allow movement, and that the slight brocade on his trousers – which was originally green – was _exactly_ the same shade of burgundy as his band-collared button-up. ‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘And may I say, you also look beautiful.’  
One corner of her mouth twitches up. ‘And you’re still a charmer,’ she says.  
‘Is it charm if it’s the truth?’ he asks – because it is, really. The blue silk of her shift dress is simple and elegant, bringing out the subtle eyeshadow that’s of a similar hue, and works perfectly with the _chignon_ her customary braids have been arranged into.

‘I don’t appreciate you two flirting,’ Dot chimes in, appearing from behind Magnus and taking her wife’s hand, ‘however nice you both look. Haven’t you got your own roommate to flirt with, Magnus?’  
Magnus rolls his eyes. ‘Behave,’ he says – then pauses, shaking his head. ‘Never mind, who do I think I’m talking to?’  
Dot throws an offended hand up over her heart – carefully, though, obviously not wanting to spill her glass of port down the scarlet lace of her vest. ‘It’s not too late for me to make you walk the plank, Magnus,’ she threatens.  
Magnus chuckles. ‘Ah, but then who would you have worn your dancing shoes for?’ he teases.  
Dot’s countenance lights up. ‘Dancing!’ she says, throwing back the rest of her drink and thrusting the empty glass into Catarina’s hands. ‘Gods, it’s nearly time – I’d better go confirm the final set list.’

She dashes off to the left, where the musically-gifted crew members can be heard warming up, the clash of asynchronous scales echoing in the voices of cello and oboe and lute. Cat watches her wife leave, an amused smirk on her lips – and then she raises an eyebrow, her eyes darting over just a little. ‘Ah, there he is. I was wondering if he’d show, honestly.’  
‘Who?’ Magnus asks, turning – and immediately smiling as he gets his answer. Alexander is leaning against the railing, close to the bow, watching the musicians get set up. ‘I’ll bring him over,’ Magnus says. ‘It’s a party, after all. One shouldn’t spend it lurking in the corner by themselves.’

He skips up the closest set of stairs to the level Alexander’s on, catching his eye as he approaches. ‘Hey,’ Alexander says, a small smile gracing his features.  
‘Hey.’ Magnus smiles at him, looking him up and down appraisingly. ‘Hm. I don’t say this to many people, Alexander, but black’s definitely your colour.’  
Alexander’s smile widens, just slightly, and he stares down at his outfit – the boxy tunic shirt, the slim trousers cuffed just below mid-calf. ‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘I know all black’s not exactly traditional, for a party in this part of the Downworld, but…’ He shrugs, looking back up at Magnus. ‘I wanted something familiar.’  
Magnus nods, realisation dawning as he remembers the golden tunic and cropped white trousers Alexander was wearing when he fell. He reaches up, an idea springing to mind. ‘If I may?’ he asks, pale magic lighting his fingertips – and when Alexander nods, he lets it sink into the shoulders and sleeves of the tunic, weaving an intricate pattern and leaving behind golden thread, just a small strip of embroidery down each side. ‘There. What do you think?’  
Alexander looks over at his shoulder, laughing as he sees the moon-and-stars pattern Magnus created. ‘Perfect,’ he says, turning back to Magnus, genuine warmth in his expression. ‘Thanks.’  
Magnus waves a hand dismissively, extinguishing the residual sparks of magic as he does. ‘Think nothing of it.’

Behind him, the band fall silent, and his eyes go wide. ‘They must be about to start,’ he says, grabbing hold of Alexander’s hand and pulling him towards the stairs. ‘Come on – it’s time to go dance.’

  
The dancing lasts for _hours,_ and Magnus is breathless, elated, and _thoroughly_ in his element. He dances with almost everyone he’s become acquainted with over the last few months – excluding Lorenzo, because that just would be incredibly awkward, but _in_ cluding Madzie, who laughs in delight as Magnus picks her up and whirls her around above his head.  
He and Dot do their promised skip jive, too – they actually end up with a small audience for that one, a circle of people watching on as they fall into the oft-practiced moves of their youth, mirroring each other in some complex footwork before Magnus takes Dot by the hand and spins her, in, out, the flounces of her skirt a blur of black and silver and her hair whipping about her face. When the dance ends, there’s a surprisingly loud smattering of applause, and they bow, flush-faced and happy.

There’s a quickstep being played right now, and Magnus gently holds on to Cat’s frame – graceful, if a little stiffer than her wife – and leads her through the reasonably-paced steps. ‘I wanted to thank you again,’ he murmurs, looking into her eyes, all remnants of their earlier teasing gone. ‘For taking us in, and helping us. I’m going to miss this.’  
‘I’ll miss you too,’ Cat says, smiling softly, leaning back as Magnus takes her into a shallow dip. ‘How about I send a message to the Ram next time we’re in Herndon for a few days, and you come meet us?’  
Magnus feels his own smile grow wide. ‘I’d like that,’ he says.

The next moment, they’re collided into by another pair of dancers – and Magnus looks up, chuckling when he sees who it is.  
‘Sorry,’ Alexander mutters, before turning back to Dot. ‘Are you okay?’  
‘I’m fine,’ Dot reassures him, though there’s a smirk on her lips. ‘You’ve only trodden on my feet a few dozen times, honest.’  
Alexander looks slightly aghast, and Magnus can’t help but laugh again. ‘Oh dear. Dot, perhaps you should lead?’  
She huffs, rolling her eyes. ‘We tried that,’ she says. ‘But we were horribly off-balance.’  
‘I’m too tall,’ Alexander explains, sounding for all the world like it’s some great personal flaw, not a physical reality he has no control over.

‘Oh dear,’ Magnus says again – and then looks Alexander up and down, assessingly, the quickstep coming to a close in the background. ‘Dorothea, why don’t we switch?’ he suggests. ‘I’m tall enough to lead Alexander, and I wouldn’t want to deprive you of Catarina’s company for much longer in any case.’  
Dot shrugs. ‘Works for me.’  
‘Wow, way to make a lady feel wanted,’ Cat says dryly – but she takes Dot’s proffered hand, stepping into the circle of her arms with a fond expression.

Magnus smiles softly, and then turns back to Alexander. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Left hand up on my shoulder – ‘ he places it accordingly – ‘and right one here,’ he says, taking it in a decisive clasp, his own right hand coming up to rest gently but firmly on Alexander’s waist – or hip, really, given his height.  
He glances back up, and tries to look in-control and encouraging, the same as when he taught a new partner the basics back at school. ‘Now,’ he says, nodding along slightly as the slow triple of a waltz starts up. ‘Let me guide you, and don’t worry about anything except walking. I won’t steer us into anyone, I promise.’  
He winks, and Alexander gives a small smile; and a few beats later they begin to move.

Less than a dozen steps in, Alexander is already visibly relaxing. ‘Okay,’ he says decisively, ‘this is easier.’  
‘I should imagine so,’ Magnus agrees. ‘For one thing, the waltz is a wonderfully versatile dance – it can be dressed up into something mesmerizingly complicated, but it’s still perfectly elegant in a more simple incarnation like this. For another thing, I always think that it helps to have the more experienced dancer leading.’  
‘You sound like you know a lot about this,’ Alexander murmurs.  
Magnus tilts his head, non-committal. ‘Some,’ he hedges. ‘Dot and I actually met in our school dance classes. By Sixth Form, we were good enough to run them while the teacher was on parental leave.’ He shrugs. ‘We also did a few competitions. Nothing major, of course, only the local under-eighteens category; but it was good fun, and we took home a few prizes now and then.’  
‘I’m sure you’re being modest,’ Alexander says. ‘I saw the way you two moved together earlier – it was incredible.’

Magnus realises that once again, he’s smiling widely, some combination of the dancing and the compliment wresting the expression entirely out from under his control. ‘Thank you, Alexander,’ he says softly – and then he raises an eyebrow. ‘What about you?’ he asks. He uses their next turn to pull Alexander close, until they’re chest to chest for a moment and he can safely whisper in his ear. ‘Do you not have dancing up in the sky?’  
He pulls back, and Alexander’s expression of surprise is quickly fading into amusement. ‘Of course we do,’ he says, rolling his eyes. ‘But it’s… different?’ He pauses, frowning a little as he seems to struggle with the words. It’s a strangely adorable expression. ‘There isn’t this – this _rhythm.’_ He shrugs. ‘Our music’s a lot more… _flowy?_ I don’t know – but there isn’t so much of a _structure_ to it, and obviously our… _physicality’s_ pretty different, too,’ he murmurs, ducking his head for a moment so that his words can stay private. ‘So that makes the dancing pretty different as well, I guess.’

Magnus pictures it, for a moment – flowing music, like a quiet hum of melody and thrum of arrhythmic harmonies, and two will-o-wisps dancing around each other in the darkness, in grand, sweeping motions that carry them far and free, but always coming back together. ‘It sounds wonderful,’ he says quietly, something catching behind his solar plexus – some _awe,_ some _reverence._ Then he looks back up at Alexander. ‘And I’ll bet that there’s a lot less chance of stepping on someone’s feet when you’re both walking on air,’ he teases.  
Alexander smiles – and it’s a wide, crooked thing this time, only a nudge away from outright laughter. ‘Yeah,’ he agrees.

The next few bars pass quietly, in the content and comfortable silence they’ve fallen into over the past few months – that is, until Magnus notices something surprising enough that he actually _stumbles.  
_‘Woah,’ Alexander says, his eyes wide, his muscles flexing where he’s suddenly had to compensate for the extra weight, holding Magnus up. ‘You okay?’  
‘Perfectly fine,’ Magnus assures him – trying not to stare as he steadies himself, and utterly failing, because – ‘Alexander, you’re _glowing.’_

Magnus’ eyes skim over the tall frame, and he blinks hard, making sure he’s not seeing things through a haze of soft lighting and alcohol – but no, he was right, light is humming softly on Alexander’s skin. A subtle, _beautiful_ glow; and one that’s obviously his _own,_ no reflection or trick of the light.  
‘…Oh.’ Alexander glances down at himself, releasing Magnus to look at his own hands. His face falls; but then he plasters a strained smile over it, letting out a quiet chuckle. ‘Yeah, well,’ he says, ‘what do stars do? Guess it comes with the territory.’  
Magnus reclaims his hands, glancing about them as he begins to turn them in slow, waltzing circles again, guiding them to the brightest part of the deck where hopefully, Alexander’s glow will be less noticeable to the rest of the crew. ‘You haven’t glowed before,’ he points out quietly.  
‘No,’ Alexander admits. ‘Guess it’s just – something about tonight, I don’t know. Planetary alignments, or geography, or… something,’ he trails off, sounding more and more distracted.

Magnus hums in acknowledgement, looking up at Alexander’s face. For all that he’s trying to be flippant, he’s obviously intensely bothered by this. ‘You know,’ Magnus says casually, ‘one of the things Lorenzo and I covered in our sessions was the use of defensive charms and wards.’  
‘What?’ Alexander asks, seemingly still lost in thought.  
‘Defensive wards,’ Magnus repeats, squeezing Alexander’s hand gently, silently asking for his attention – and receiving it, Alexander’s gaze swivelling back to meet his own. ‘The kind you could put around a building, or just on a door, to protect the people inside.’ He tilts his head, pretending nonchalance. ‘If it’s all right with you, I might practice those tonight. Throw up a couple of protective wards on our door – the kind that would keep a hypothetical intruder out, and let us know of their presence.’

Alexander blinks at him for a few moments – and then lets out a breath, a small _oh_ on his lips. ‘It’s up to you,’ he murmurs, his voice just a hair away from truly casual. ‘I don’t mind.’  
Magnus nods decisively, offering a tight-lipped smile. ‘Thank you,’ he says, and he keeps Alexander’s gaze, imploring him to understand the full implication. _I’ll keep you safe,_ he thinks – strongly, fiercely, as if perhaps his thoughts can embed themselves in Alexander’s mind if Magnus just thinks them hard enough. _No-one’s getting to you without going through me._  
Alexander still looks a little perturbed – understandable, given the circumstances – but he gives a small smile of his own, and a short, jerky nod.  
Magnus relaxes slightly, his message apparently received. As soon as they get back to their room, he’ll ward the door to within an inch of its life if he has to.

But for now, he just holds on, and they dance in gold and silver light.


	8. On Solid Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and Alexander head for Wall. It proves about as simple as the rest of their journey has been thus far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Magnus' birthday and may I say, this is a fitting chapter to post on such a day, aha. Couldn't have planned it better if I tried XD  
> See end notes for warnings, because they're somewhat spoilery today! <3

Stepping onto land again, after months up in the air, is strange and a little dizzying. Then again, Alexander’s not sure that he fully made the adjustment from sky to land after he fell in the first place, so it’s possible he’s not the most objective when it comes to this particular phenomenon.

The lightning cargo is unloaded first, and after that, the crew divides into two teams – one smaller team, headed by Cat, goes to meet with their regular distributor and haggle over prices, while Dot leads the rest of the crew in a supply run, taking the opportunity at port to restock.   
Magnus goes with Cat because he’s interested in business dealings generally, let alone the relatively new-fangled and complex business of _lightning._ Alexander isn’t particularly interested in any of that, however, so he heads out to the marketplace with Dot and the others instead.

They make good progress, packing textiles and threads and fuel into the large carry-cases the crew uses to ferry goods back and forth from the ship. ‘We won’t do a food stock just yet,’ Dot explains, when they bypass the grocers’ part of the market. ‘We’re here for at least two days, and even with Lorenzo’s preservation spells, it’s good practice to set off with supplies as fresh as possible.’   
Half of their team are designated to take the less-perishable supplies back to the ship, while the others disperse into the market, officially off-duty and heading out to spend their wage in whatever way they deem fit.   
Alexander’s about to do the same – despite his willingness to work simply in exchange for his room and board and training, Cat had insisted on paying him and Magnus both a small wage each – but Dot suddenly grasps ahold of his arm, managing to keep the gesture looking casual despite her strong grip. ‘Can I borrow you for a moment?’ she asks. Her voice is nonchalant, but her gaze is serious, and Alexander nods, following her to the narrow corridor between two lines of stalls.

Once there, in relative privacy, she lets go of his arm and speaks quietly. ‘I need to talk to you about something,’ she says. ‘Rumours I’ve been hearing around the marketplace today.’   
‘Okay,’ he says, frowning a little. He saw her taking the opportunity to converse with fellow merchants and patrons, of course, but he’s not sure what it’s got to do with him -  
‘People know you walk the earth, Alexander,’ she says. ‘Apparently, _someone’s_ been putting feelers out, looking for you, and as a result you’re the talk of the underground.’   
‘…Oh.’ Well, that answers the _what’s it got to do with me_ question. ‘Probably Asmodeus,’ he says, instinctively tugging at the long, dark sleeves of his coat, in an effort to hide any residual glow. ‘I’ll bet he didn’t take kindly to our escape.’   
‘I imagine you’re right,’ Dot agrees. Her expression softens a little. ‘I know you and Magnus will be heading off soon, so I just wanted to give you a heads up. Especially with the –‘ She gestures vaguely, indicating the faint glow visible at his hands and face in the shadow of the stalls.   
‘Yeah,’ he murmurs. ‘I appreciate it.’

Dot nods. ‘Look, I don’t know how this works, but – is there any way you can… tone it down?’   
Alexander just raises an eyebrow at her. ‘I already _am.’_  
Her eyes go wide. _‘Oh,’_ she says; and then she smiles, a sudden gentleness in her tone. ‘It’s Magnus, isn’t it?’   
Alexander hesitates, for a moment – but there’s not really much sense in denying it. ‘Yeah,’ he says quietly. ‘It’s an… emotional response, I guess is the best way of putting it.’   
Dot nods again, understandingly. ‘All right. I suppose all I’m saying is be careful, okay?’ She glances out at the square. ‘Don’t get so caught up in your emotions that you put yourself in danger.’

And maybe that piece of advice is a little obvious, not to mention almost impossible to follow – but it comes from a place of friendship, so rather than pointing those things out, Alexander just gives a small smile. ‘I won’t,’ he promises.   
Dot smiles back at him, relaxing a little. ‘Good.’ She reaches out, linking arms with him. ‘Now – keep me company while I look around Oddity Alley?’   
Half the experience of having Downworlder friends, Alexander’s beginning to suspect, is letting them get away with thinly-veiled concern, all the ways they’ll pretend they’re _not_ just trying to keep an eye on you. ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Lead the way.’

  
***

  
Magnus feels himself relax as he spots Alexander in the distance. Not that it’s difficult to see him in a crowd, given his ludicrous height – but between the fact that they haven’t been further apart than the bounds of the ship in about four months, and the small issue of Alexander’s sudden luminescence (which, he’s happy to realise, isn’t really noticeable in the low, early-winter sunlight), he’d be lying if he claimed that he’d been entirely comfortable with their separation this morning.   
Which makes Magnus sound like a clingy idiot, especially since Alexander’s more than capable of taking care of himself _by_ himself, let alone when he’s with Dot and the rest of the crew. But however embarrassing it is, it’s also the truth, unfortunately.

Alexander and Dot are currently looking over some fine, translucent scarves. Magnus sees Alexander gifting her a small smile, holding a navy blue scarf with a colourful butterfly print up to her neck, making some sort of comment that’s lost in the bustle of the marketplace but that prompts a good-natured laugh in response.   
Magnus crosses the rest of the distance quickly, unlinking arms with Cat when they reach the other pair and feeling a satisfied smile cross his face as he slots into what’s become his regular place at Alexander’s side. ‘Alexander,’ he says by way of greeting, gesturing to the scarf, ‘how on earth did I miss that you have such an eye for colour?’ He looks at the way the vibrancy of the fabric pairs with Dot’s own clear colour profile, and nods approvingly. ‘I hope you’re going to take his suggestion, Dorothea. You’d be a fool not to.’   
The merchant gives a cheery, booming laugh, the movement rustling the jewellery that glints golden and striking against their purple tunic and dark skin. ‘Oh, I like this one,’ they declare with a grin. ‘Why haven’t I thought of having someone here to make the sales _for_ me?’

Dot rolls her eyes, turning back to complete the haggling and transaction – but Magnus’ attention is drawn away as Alexander gently grasps his arm, turning Magnus in towards him and steering both of them away from the stall, just a little. ‘I got you something,’ he murmurs.   
Magnus blinks in surprise. ‘Me?’  
Alexander laughs, a fond, low bubble of a sound that makes Magnus feel pleasantly warm. ‘Yes, you,’ he says, placing a small envelope in Magnus’ hands.   
Curiosity washing aside the minor embarrassment, Magnus opens the envelope, gently lifting out the small gift inside – it looks like a small red purse, almost, but sewn shut all the way around.

‘It’s some sort of good luck charm,’ Alexander explains. ‘Apparently there are some herbs inside it, and they give it a few protective properties?’ He reaches out, softly tracing his fingertips over the golden embroidery, Magnus smiling at the brief flicker of contact as their hands brush together for a moment. ‘I don’t know if that’s exactly true, of course, I haven’t got quite enough magic sensitivity for that,’ Alexander admits. ‘I mostly bought it because it reminded me of you.’   
It’s easy to see why – the embroidery under their careful touch is strikingly similar to the golden adjustment Magnus had made to Alexander’s outfit last night, swirls of pattern interlaced with tiny star-like dots. ‘It is true,’ Magnus murmurs – he can feel the protective energies of the charm, watery ripples of power outside the silk casing. Low enough that it’s no surprise Alexander can’t sense them right now, but containing a seed of strength, too – Magnus gets the feeling that this is the sort of subtle charm that lies dormant until needed, but can then really pack a punch when the time comes.

He looks back up at Alexander, letting his gentle smile widen into something more blatant and grateful. ‘Thank you, Alexander,’ he says. ‘What a lovely surprise.’   
Alexander gives a small smile in response. ‘You’re welcome,’ he says softly.

  
***

  
They leave at dawn the next day.

Saying goodbye is harder than Magnus expected, and he very nearly starts crying when Madzie wraps her little arms around his neck and solemnly makes him promise that he’ll come back soon. Thankfully, before he can get too emotional, she turns away and reaches for Alexander, and Magnus hands her off with a soft chuckle.

Of course, the last two people he has to say goodbye to aren’t exactly any easier.   
‘Be careful,’ Cat implores him. ‘It’s a dangerous world out there.’  
‘Says the stormchaser,’ Magnus retorts with a smile, but he pulls her in for a hug that’s gentler than their words.   
He turns to Dot, and she grins at him. ‘We’ll be okay,’ she says. ‘We look out for each other. You two had better do the same, all right?’   
Over her shoulder, Magnus glimpses Alexander crouching down to Madzie’s level, talking to her with a soft smile and matching each of her serious little nods.   
‘That’s the plan,’ he promises.

  
Outside of Herndon, the city bustle drops down to nothing surprisingly quickly, likely owing to the ridge of hills they’ve just crested and are now descending. ‘I have to say, I’m glad to have invested in a better pair of boots before we set out,’ Magnus says cheerfully, glancing to the right, where Alexander is matching his firm, steady pace. ‘I doubt the pair I had would have lasted me through this hike back home.’   
Alexander gives a fond, exasperated-looking smile. ‘I’ve been telling you that you ought to replace them ever since you slipped over during that storm. I’m glad you _finally_ came to your senses, though.’   
‘It’s not as though I could have bought a new pair sooner,’ Magnus protests. ‘Unless your time on the ship revealed a cobbler’s house I wasn’t privy to during mine?’  
‘You’re literally magic,’ Alexander points out. ‘You could have gotten a new pair any time you wanted.’  
Magnus shakes his head. ‘Tailoring and cobbling are fine artisan crafts, Alexander,’ he says gravely, trying not to smile. ‘Best left to the experts, I believe. Less chance of chafing that way.’

Alexander pulls an unimpressed face, and Magnus laughs, tilting his head back and taking a deep lungful of fresh air. ‘Gods, I’ve missed this. The air smells different up there, doesn’t it? I reckon it’s the lack of trees.’ He sighs. ‘I don’t consider myself an impatient man, but I must admit that I can’t wait to be home.’   
He looks out into the middle distance, as if he can see straight ahead to the Ram if he unfocuses enough. ‘I’m sure my friends will be amazed by the thrilling tale of our adventures,’ he adds with a smile. ‘Well – Maia will, at least, and most of my colleagues at the Ram. Perhaps not Raphael, though I daresay he’ll eavesdrop, even if he’s pretending to pay no attention.’   
‘Not to mention Camille,’ Alexander comments. ‘I imagine she’ll be impressed by the lengths you’ve gone to for her.’   
‘…Right,’ Magnus says – and speeds up, just slightly, so that his face is hidden from Alexander’s knowing gaze.

Because the truth is, in just a handful of words, Alexander’s left him thoroughly confused. Camille _should_ be impressed – that’s what Magnus has been aiming for all along, after all, this was his _plan._ So why does his gut suddenly insist that she almost certainly won’t be?   
‘Magnus?’ Alexander’s voice jolts him back to reality, and Magnus realises that he’s fallen behind slightly, despite his initial burst of speed. ‘Everything okay?’  
Magnus finds a smile. ‘I’m sorry, I got lost in thought for a moment,’ he says truthfully. ‘Anyway – what about you, Alexander, hm? What are you going to do first when you get back to the Upworld?’

  
The morning shifts into brisk afternoon, and as they break for lunch the clouds begin to cover the sun, whiting out the sky in harsh monochrome. Still, it’s duller than true sunshine, and once they find themselves in the shadow of the hill they’ve just rounded the base of, it’s practically dim.   
Which is why, when Magnus hears hoofbeats, he panics and practically throws Alexander into the shrubbery on their right.   
‘Magnus, what the- what is it?’ Alexander’s voice is low, but Magnus shushes him anyway, pulls his feet into the cover of the leaves and hopes the man now lying underneath him has the good sense to do the same.

He must do, because the hoofbeats pass without breaking rhythm, and begin to fade again.   
Magnus sighs, blinking to focus once more on what’s in front of him – which, of course, is a very confused, slightly concerned star. ‘Apologies for the takedown, but we were in the shade,’ he explains, still keeping his voice to a murmur, for the moment. ‘I was worried that your luminescence might attract some unsavoury attention.’   
‘Makes sense,’ Alexander admits, and he gives a half-smile. ‘And apology accepted; especially since that shove was apparently out of kindness. For a moment there, I was worried you’d finally decided to go after my heart.’   
Disgust coils in Magnus’ gut. ‘I would _never,’_ he insists, his hands tightening in the leaf litter. ‘Alexander, even if a magically-extended life didn’t sound like a horribly lonely thing to face, to do something so _barbaric_ as to-‘  
‘Magnus!’ Alexander laughs, shaking his head, his hands reaching up and patting firmly over Magnus’ ribcage, at once interrupting and placating. ‘I was kidding.’

‘…Oh.’ And, all right. That should have been painfully obvious, shouldn’t it? ‘Well,’ Magnus says, finding a smile of his own in an effort to save face. ‘At least you know, now.’   
‘I knew anyway,’ Alexander says softly. ‘I told you; I trust you.’   
Magnus’ smile widens into something more genuine, and he nods.

Abruptly, he realises that they should probably get out of the bushes now; he springs to his feet, offering silently to pull Alexander up too, and their hands meet in a warm, solid clasp. ‘Let’s get out of the shade,’ Magnus suggests. ‘And then next time we hear someone coming, maybe we can barter passage instead of hiding. I don’t know about you, but I’d really rather get to Wall before nightfall.’ He sets off on the path again, feeling more settled as Alexander falls into step beside him once more. ‘There are creatures in these hills I’d rather not be out here to face in the night-time.’   
‘What, like wolves?’ Alexander asks, sounding a little wary.   
‘Bugs,’ Magnus corrects with a smirk. ‘You’re pretty much a big lantern, Alexander. Think of all the moths and mosquitoes you’ll attract.’   
Alexander rolls his eyes, and Magnus gives in to laughter.

  
***

  
It’s shortly before dusk when Azazel spots him. He’s stunned for a moment, because the son of Asmodeus is just… walking along this same dirt road, right in front him and – oh, this is too good. He’s turning around and actually _waving him down._   
Azazel slows the horse pulling his caravan, and pastes a casual smile over the smirk that tugs at his lips. ‘Good afternoon,’ he says pleasantly. ‘Can I help you?’   
‘I certainly hope so,’ the boy replies, the glamour over his distinctive, inherited eyes flickering in a futile attempt to keep out Azazel’s Sight. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be willing to offer passage to Cliffsink, would you? Not for nothing, of course – you’d be paid fairly for your time.’

Azazel pretends to consider it for a moment. ‘I’m not usually one to take passengers,’ he says honestly, and nods faux-attentively at the boy’s renewed bargaining as the wheels in his head start to turn. He needs this chance, Asmodeus is too good a potential ally to pass up an opportunity with; and sure, their paths haven’t crossed in years, but Azazel keeps tabs on the biggest players of their world, and he can’t think of a better bargaining chip for his good opinion than his wayward heir.   
But Asmodeus wants his son back for a _reason,_ Azazel reminds himself. The boy isn’t totally defenceless, in all likelihood he’s carrying some sort of –   
_Ah._ There it is, hanging around his neck.

Azazel smiles, nodding one final time as the boy comes to the end of making his case. ‘Well, my mother always told me to be helpful whenever I could,’ he says cheerily. ‘As for payment, I’m afraid I don’t trade in coin – but how about that pendant of yours, the red one? It looks well-made. That should suffice.’

The boy looks over his shoulder – Azazel follows his gaze, but doesn’t quite place whatever rustle in the long grasses probably caught his attention – before he looks back at Azazel with a cautious nod. ‘All right,’ he says, and lifts the charm from around his neck, proffering it.

Azazel takes it.   
His grin turns wicked, and he lets his magic free.

  
***

  
Magnus’ hands rise in a furious glow to defend himself, and Alexander lurches forward – but the cloud of magic surrounding Magnus repels him, and his heart hammers in his chest; ‘Magnus!’ he yells, panic starting to set in, now, Magnus, _Magnus –_

The smoke clears, and Alexander blinks disbelievingly.   
Because where Magnus was standing, there is now a tiny, frail-looking tortoiseshell kitten.

The man on the carriage laughs, hopping down from his perch, and Alexander snarls, stepping forward to reach Magnus first. ‘You _bastard,_ stay away from-‘  
But the man ducks down, and Alexander is pushed backwards. Realisation settles gently in his gut, and he tests it – he _launches_ himself at the man, yelling and kicking and ducking into his eyeline.   
None of his blows land, and none of his clamours for attention yield any result.

He breathes hard, slipping into the caravan as the man swings the door open, then standing back next to a black-and-white bird on its perch as Magnus is lowered – squirming and mewling in his tiny feline form – into a small cage, the door to it securely bolted after him. ‘I don’t know why you can’t see me, or – or _anything,’_ Alexander murmurs darkly. ‘But if you hurt him, or if we can’t fix this? I swear on the skies that I will find a way to make your life a living hell.’   
The man, of course, ignores him as thoroughly as ever, chuckling as he tucks Magnus’ good-luck charm into a wooden chest within one of the wall-mounted cabinets. ‘Down, kitty,’ he says with amusement, running a fingernail along the bars, and Alexander grits his teeth as Magnus cringes away from the noise. ‘Don’t worry, we’re not far off. And maybe it’s not Cliffsink like you were hoping for, but I hear there’s plenty of fun to be had at family reunions.’

Alexander’s breath catches; and the moment the door closes, he rushes forwards, opening the cage and gently lifting Magnus out, cradling him in his arms. ‘Magnus,’ he says helplessly. ‘Magnus, are you all right? Do you understand me?’   
The kitten just blinks at him balefully, Magnus’ unglamoured eyes wide and untracking in his fuzzy new face. Either his mind is gone in this form, or the spell just really took it out of him – it’s impossible to tell which.   
Alexander nods. ‘Okay. Okay, well, if you understand me, don’t worry, okay?’ He finds a weak smile. ‘We’re gonna get out of here long before we get to Asmodeus. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, I promise.’

He glances around the caravan, opening the cabinet and rooting out the charm again, looping it over his own neck for safekeeping even as he sighs frustratedly. ‘Fuck, I don’t know what any of the stuff in here _is,’_ he murmurs, gesturing at the eclectic items littering the cupboards and worktop and floor. ‘Let alone if any of it could turn you back.’   
_Start with the green vial above your head,_ a quiet, feminine voice says.

He whirls around – and immediately locks gazes with the bird, the black spot around its eye drawing his focus all the more. ‘Was that… you?’ Surely not, it can’t -   
_Of course,_ the voice comes again – and the bird puffs its white breastfeathers for a moment, before shaking out its long, dark tail and stepping as close as the tiny glowing chain around its feet will allow. _We don’t have much time,_ it says urgently. _If you want to get him out of here and away from harm, you need to do what I say. Green vial. Pour it into the copper pot below me._ Its beak jerks downwards, gesturing at the small, hinge-lidded vessel.

And, well. That leaves very little room for doubt, so Alexander complies quickly, one hand holding Magnus to his chest as the other reaches up for the vial he needs. ‘How the hell can I even hear you?’ he can’t help but ask as the viscous liquid drips into the pot, infuriatingly slow. ‘Downworld birds don’t talk - not in any language people can understand, at least.’   
_We are fortunate, then, that I am not a usual bird and you are not like usual people, sky-child,_ the bird says dryly. _The plant to my left. Two pinches of its soil and two-and-a-half of its newest leaves. Then shake the pot._  
The soil and leaves go in, dissolving with a hiss of purple steam as Alexander agitates the mixture. He drops his inquiry, for now, and focuses on the potion.

A handful of minutes later – and after one yowl from Magnus, Alexander murmuring an apology as he plucks a single strand of fur from his tail to dip three times into the tiny cauldron – the bird gives a quiet, triumphant-sounding chirrup. _That’s it! Now, go – if Azazel can’t see or hear you, he’ll never notice you jumping out of the back entrance. Give your friend the potion as soon as we’re out of sight and then run for the nearest town you can find, understand?  
_ ‘All right.’ Alexander gathers up the potion in one hand, resettling Magnus more firmly in the other – and hesitates.   
_What are you waiting for?_ the bird snaps. _You need to go-  
_ ‘And just leave you here?’ he points out. ‘Maybe we can-‘  
 _No._ The voice is gentler, now. _It’s too late for me. I’ve been here for years, and will likely be here until I die. Please, just – just get him out of here before he suffers an even worse fate.  
That’s not good enough,_ Alexander wants to say – but every moment they travel closer to Asmodeus, Magnus is in more danger, and he can’t allow that.

So instead, he loops the necklace – charm and all - over the bird’s perch. ‘Thank you,’ he says sincerely. ‘It’s not much, but maybe this can afford you some protection.’   
The bird blinks at him. _Thank you, sky-child,_ the voice says warmly. _Now please – go._

Alexander turns away, unlatches the back door as quietly as he can, and jumps, stumbling to a halt and barely avoiding crashing to his knees.   
And then, true to his word, he runs.

He doesn’t dare stop until they’ve cleared two sharp corners in the road, descended down one hillside, and covered enough ground that his lungs are burning in the cool evening air. ‘All right,’ he says breathlessly, dropping into a crouch and gently setting Magnus down on the wide stone path. With any luck, that should mean they’re pretty close to civilisation, now.   
He holds out the potion, offering it to the kitten and tilting gently. ‘Here. Come on, let’s get you walking around again.’

Magnus accepts the potion, lapping it from the cauldron’s edge until it’s all gone, and Alexander holds his breath.   
And then there’s a high-pitched yowl, a bright swarm of purple smoke – and in the kitten’s place is _Magnus,_ two-legged and six feet tall once more, though currently curled up on his side and taking in great, heaving breaths.   
‘Easy, easy,’ Alexander soothes, a relieved chuckle escaping him all the same as he reaches out and puts a comforting hand on Magnus’ shoulder.   
At his touch, Magnus’ eyes snap upwards to him, wide and unglamoured, pupils dilated – and he grabs at Alexander’s hands with his own, latching on tight.   
Alexander smiles, as reassuringly as he can. ‘It’s all right,’ he says again. ‘Just take a minute. I’m not going anywhere.’

After several more deep breaths, Magnus nods, his throat working as he swallows. ‘Alexander,’ he croaks out.   
‘Yeah, that’s me.’   
Magnus rolls his eyes at the comment, and something in Alexander’s chest loosens further at the sight. ‘I was going to say _thank you,’_ he says, his voice getting less raspy with every syllable. ‘But if you’re going to give me attitude, I might instead ask why you gave my good-luck charm away to a _bird.’_  
Alexander can’t help it – he bursts out laughing. It’s not funny at all, not really, but their lives are so damn _weird._ ‘Hey, you gave it away first,’ he points out, his heart sobering a little. ‘Besides, didn’t you hear me talking to it? That bird is the reason you’re a biped again.’   
Magnus smirks – but there’s something softer there, too. ‘One of the reasons,’ he insists gently.

Before Alexander’s quite worked out what to say to that, his focus is efficiently drawn away by the sudden task he acquires – namely, supporting Magnus as he gets to his feet. ‘Come on,’ Magnus says. ‘I’m pretty sure I know this road. I think Cliffsink is off the table for now, after our misadventure, but if we get a move on we probably still have a chance of reaching Strawhold before sunset.’

Wordlessly, Alexander nods, and follows Magnus with an arm still wrapped around his waist.

  
***

  
Magnus groans contentedly, stretching out bath-warmed muscles as he throws aside his towel and puts on the softest, most comfortable outfit he has, dark green trousers and a simple black vest. Thank the gods his pack was transformed with him – sure, he could have borrowed from Alexander, but there’s something undeniably pleasant about wearing one’s _own_ clothes.

He steps out from behind the modesty screen, and smiles at his almost-clothes supplier, who’s sitting up on the nearest bed.   
Alexander returns it. ‘Hey. You feeling better?’   
‘Much,’ he says honestly. The wooziness from the transformation had thankfully worn off enough that by the time they reached the inn on the edge of Strawhold – mere minutes before the sun would have entirely disappeared below the horizon – they were able to pass off Alexander’s support of him as merely a twisted ankle. Now, the dizziness and confusion has entirely faded, and he’s grateful for that.

Especially, he thinks with a grin, how some memories from the caravan are clarifying now. ‘I have to hand it to you, Alexander,’ he says mischievously, perching at the end of the bed. ‘You make an imposing figure. I’m sure if that sneaky little gremlin had been able to see you, they would have been quaking in their boots.’   
Alexander snorts, not looking up from the small length of colourful twine he’s manipulating between big, careful hands, twisting and untwisting it through various shapes. ‘Yeah, well,’ he says. ‘I was feeling fairly provoked.’   
‘Because you were _worried_ about me,’ Magnus teases.

But this time, Alexander doesn’t laugh. ‘Of course I was,’ he says lowly. ‘When he attacked you… I’m not sure I’ve ever been that scared.’   
Magnus blinks in surprise – and then his smile softens, his heart warming as it often does at the easy honesty of his Alexander. Sure, it’s a more intense answer than he was expecting, but he can’t say he wouldn’t feel the same if their positions were reversed. After all, when you love someone –

His breath catches. When you _love_ someone?

…When you _love_ someone.

 _  
Oh._ He swallows hard. _I’m a fucking idiot._

  
How could he not have _realised?_ How could he not have known his own heart, when it’s so damn _obvious-_

But Alexander is getting up, now, his movements hurried and disjointed. ‘Anyway,’ he says with a quick, strange smile. ‘It doesn’t matter now. You’re all right, and we should get some sleep before we head over to Wall tomorrow.’ He turns away, heading for the other bed –   
\- but Magnus’ hand reaches out of its own accord, taking his arm and halting him in his tracks. ‘Wait,’ he says, a little desperate-sounding even to his own ears. ‘Wait, just… just wait a minute.’   
Alexander turns to look at him, frowning a little in confusion – and then concern. ‘What’s wrong? You feeling okay?’   
_No,_ he thinks hysterically. _I’m pretty sure I’m in shock._ ‘I just – wanted to say, about tomorrow…’ His tongue darts over his lips. It doesn’t help. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t do this.’   
Alexander looks stunned, and then -   
‘No!’ Magnus adds, alarmed now by the hint of crestfallen disbelief Alexander’s expression has taken on. ‘No, I mean, obviously I’ll still send you home, like I promised.’ He quickly takes the last stump of the Babylon candle from his trouser pocket, throwing it onto the opposite bed, the one now closest to Alexander, as if to prove his words. ‘It’s just, I don’t think we need to go to Wall first.’

‘…What?’ Alexander is quite clearly baffled, and Magnus doesn’t blame him. ‘Magnus, I told you already – I don’t mind waiting a few more days. Camille-‘   
‘I’m not in love with Camille,’ Magnus blurts out. Alexander’s eyes widen – in what it’s absolutely _far_ too optimistic to call _hope_ – and Magnus takes a deep breath. ‘I’m not,’ he says again, more calmly. ‘I may have started this for her, and maybe that blinded me to what was happening. But I didn’t find a lump of rock in that crater – I found _you.’_ He laughs quietly, even though his heart is beating like it’s terrified. ‘And I don’t know how on the gods’ green earth I missed it, but at some point…’   
He hesitates – but haven’t they always been on a level playing field, more similar than different? Maybe, _maybe_ Alexander feels what he feels; and whether that’s true or not, it doesn’t change the fact that this man is worth every risk Magnus has ever taken on his account.

And so Magnus finds a smile, and it’s fragile on his lips but that’s okay, he thinks, for a moment like this. ‘Every moment I spend _with_ you is better than one without,’ he murmurs, reverent, the truth of those words only properly sinking in as he speaks them aloud. ‘All I want is for you to be happy, for you to feel safe – because that’s how you make me feel every day.’ He shakes his head helplessly. ‘Alexander, I’m not in love with Camille. I don’t think I have been for a long time. I’ve fallen in love with you.’

  
For a long, unbearable moment, there’s silence.

  
And then Alexander smiles, bright and wide and wondering, and it’s quite possibly the most beautiful thing Magnus has ever seen. ‘I love you too,’ he says, and the words are barely free before he’s closing the distance between them.

Magnus meets him halfway.

And then it’s Alexander’s hands warm at the nape of his neck as they kiss, his lips soft and pliant as Magnus pushes forward until they’re chest-to-chest, closer, closer -  
They trip and end up sprawled on one of the beds, pulling apart a little in surprise.

Alexander raises an eyebrow. ‘That was graceful.’   
And Magnus laughs, and dives back in to kiss him again, barely able to do so for how much they’re smiling.

It might be seconds or hours before Magnus pulls back again, propping himself up and gazing down at Alexander, his heart swelling with affection and his mouth going dry with _want,_ his hips shifting of their own accord. It’s like the realisation has opened a floodgate, every feeling stronger in the warmth between them now. ‘I want you, Alexander,’ he says simply. ‘Is that okay?’   
In answer, Alexander nods – and then reaches up again, pulling him back down into another kiss, open-mouthed and hard and desperate. ‘I’m yours,’ he whispers between breaths.   
Magnus’ heart skips in triple-time, and he closes his eyes for a moment, humming into the kiss, one of his hands still bearing some of his weight while the other moves down, hiking up Alexander’s shirt, before moving down to his first trouser button, just above his hips-  
Alexander freezes.

Abruptly, Magnus opens his eyes, sharply pulling his hand away and pushing himself up a little. ‘Is something wrong?’   
‘…No,’ Alexander says hesitantly, and the concern in Magnus’ chest twists a little tighter. ‘I just – I’ve not – I didn’t realise you meant…’  
Magnus blinks in realisation. ‘Oh.’ He nods, trying to find a smile despite the sudden twinge of guilt he feels. ‘I apologise. I should have been clearer.’   
‘It’s okay,’ Alexander says, returning the smile. Magnus tries to roll off of him – but is stopped, held in place by Alexander’s hands on his waist, his hips. ‘You can – uh –‘ Alexander clears his throat, the very top of his cheeks flushed slightly pink amidst the soft glow he has, ethereal in the last of the evening light. ‘Do you want to – keep going?’

Magnus considers him, scans his expression for any sign of discomfort. _Yes,_ he wants to say, but that doesn’t seem like the answer Alexander needs right now. ‘We can, but we don’t have to,’ he settles on instead. ‘It’s okay if you’re not ready. There’s no rush, I promise.’   
Alexander’s eyes dart away for a moment, down to where one of his hands has started fidgeting with the hem of Magnus’ vest, his fingertips brushing feather-soft against Magnus’ skin. When he looks back up, there’s a determined glint in his expression. ‘I think I’m ready,’ he says – quietly, but clearly.   
Magnus nods. ‘Okay,’ he says sincerely.

He leans in, brushing their noses together in the tease of a kiss, lips barely a breath apart. ‘Let me take care of you,’ he whispers, and he presses a kiss to the corner of Alexander’s mouth – ‘and you just tell me – ‘ he moves lower, kissing lightly along Alexander’s jaw, down his neck – ‘if you want me to stop.’   
He plants a final kiss on Alexander’s collarbone, just above the neckline of his shirt, and then he looks up, meeting his eyes once more. ‘All right?’ he checks.   
Alexander nods, a soft smile gracing his features once more. ‘All right,’ he murmurs, and he briefly, gently cups Magnus’ face in one of his hands. ‘I trust you.’

Magnus only pauses for a moment longer – and he uses that moment to give Alexander a warm, adoring smile in return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:   
> \- Kidnapping   
> \- Long-term imprisonment/slavery (NOT of a major character)   
> \- 'Fade to black' implied sex 
> 
> (I'd also like to mention that I'm very proud of this chapter, so I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one in particular! <3 )


	9. The Houses of our Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are long-awaited reunions.

In the glow of the morning, curled up at Alexander’s side, Magnus is so warm and content that he’d quite like to stay right where he is forever.

The morning light spills golden across their sheets through a glinting gap in the thick curtains, but Magnus reaches up to another source of light instead, marvelling a little at how shadows fall softly across his hands when he gently pushes a curl away from Alexander’s forehead. Here, safe behind a locked door and away from the prying eyes of the world, it’s easier to see this starlight not as dangerous, but unfathomably beautiful.

Moments later, Alexander’s face scrunches up, his gentle snoring coming to a halt just before he opens bleary eyes – which widen as they fall on Magnus, before softening into a gaze so tender it almost hurts. ‘Good morning,’ Alexander says quietly; and then he’s reaching out, brushing a thumb over Magnus’ cheekbone, and Magnus realises that his glamour is down.   
He smiles, and keeps it that way. He’s not going to hide from Alexander. Especially not when he’s fixing him with the same look he did in the crow’s nest, which seems so long ago now. ‘Morning,’ he says instead.

They lie there for a while, draped together in content quietude and trading sleepy kisses.   
Eventually, Alexander says, ‘So – Wall today, then?’   
Magnus hums in agreement. ‘Wall today,’ he confirms. ‘I know our original deal is off, but I’ve been away from home a long time.’ He gives a half-hearted grin. ‘Raphael must be worried sick, the old softie.’   
Alexander smiles at his joke, but there’s something in his eyes that knows how serious Magnus’ worry is, and Magnus is grateful for it. ‘All right,’ he says softly. ‘What time do you think we need to leave, then?’

Magnus groans, rolling away and stretching out, though keeping one arm tucked up against Alexander’s side. ‘Much as I don’t want to move, probably soon. We shouldn’t risk getting there too late – it gets dim quickly around the forest.’ He rolls all the way out of bed, getting to his feet, turning back towards Alexander. ‘So we should – ‘  
His eyes catch on the small black stump of wax on the furthest bedside table, and uncertainty steals his breath for a moment.

‘Magnus?’ Alexander frowns in concern, looking over his shoulder – and freezing as he must realise what Magnus is looking at.   
And that won’t do, that’s not fair, so Magnus clears his throat and gives a cheery smile. ‘Mustn’t forget to take that,’ he says airily, and when Alexander turns back to face him Magnus winks. ‘And now our deal is off, we should plan for when we’re going to use it, too. After all, if it’s soon, I need to get a proper head-start on missing you.’ He winces a little as the joke falls flat, too close to the truth to be decently flippant.

But Alexander doesn’t seem to notice, just bites his lip a little and looks at Magnus consideringly. ‘Maybe…’ He pauses – and then rolls out of bed himself, coming up to Magnus with sure steps and taking both of his hands. ‘Maybe I could stay for a while,’ he suggests softly.   
Magnus’ heart skips a beat, even as he shakes his head. ‘Alexander, you wanted-‘  
‘Wants change,’ Alexander interrupts gently, squeezing his hands. ‘And I’m not saying I’ll never be homesick, and I don’t want to stay _forever,_ but… at least for a while?’ He smiles. ‘I mean, how many chances do you think I’ll get to explore the Downworld with a proper tour guide, huh?’

Magnus smiles back, but it feels like a wan, strained thing. ‘…Everything in me wants to agree, but… I’m not sure I could handle getting used to you,’ he confesses. ‘Not when I know that at any moment…’ He trails off, swallowing hard.   
Alexander nods, his gaze unwavering. ‘Then maybe I should just stay as long as you want me to.’

Magnus has to hold in a gasp, and doesn’t quite manage to stop his eyes blowing wide. ‘I couldn’t – Alexander, that’s…’ He huffs a disbelieving laugh. ‘You should know, that could very well be a long, long time,’ he warns gently. ‘I wouldn’t blame you, not in the slightest, if you couldn’t make that promise.’

Alexander apparently has the grace to think it over, thank the gods, rather than offer an instant platitude.   
Unfortunately, that also means that it’s twice as overwhelming when his eyes flick back up to Magnus’, and he nods. ‘I’ve got all the time in the world,’ he points out softly. ‘I love you, and I want to see where this goes. If that means staying an extra week, or year – or hell, even a handful of decades…’ He smiles again, gentle and warm and far, far too easy for such a conversation, and Magnus’ heart aches for it. ‘Then I want that. I want to stay for as long as you want me around, Magnus.’   
Magnus can’t help it, then – he pulls his hands away and upwards, loops his arms around Alexander’s neck and tugs him down for a firm, grateful kiss.

When they break apart, a laugh bubbles up in Magnus’ throat, joy he didn’t dare to feel until now escaping in sound. ‘I want that too, Alexander,’ he murmurs, and his expression stretches into a grin. ‘I guess we have a new deal.’

Alexander laughs, and leans in to seal their new deal with another kiss.

A short while later, they’ve eaten breakfast and they’re getting dressed when Alexander pauses, one arm of his shirt on. ‘Magnus,’ he says, ‘is this map accurate?’   
Magnus looks up, doing up the last of his buttons by feel as he wanders over to the framed map of the region hanging on the wall Alexander’s facing. ‘I think so,’ he says, scanning the map, a small smile twitching into place as he sees Wall. _Home._  
Alexander’s finger briefly traces over the same spot as Magnus’ gaze – but he’s not smiling. In fact, when he turns away from the map and towards Magnus, he looks incredibly concerned. ‘Magnus, I can’t go with you.’

Magnus blinks, taking a half-step back in surprise, even as he reaches out to take Alexander’s hand. ‘What? Why? Is something wrong?’   
‘Not _wrong,’_ Alexander insists, his frown deepening a little as he glances back at the map, his free hand reaching out to the map and tracing along the wall itself. ‘You see this? How the east is shaded kind of red, and the west is kind of green?’   
‘Yes, of course,’ Magnus says slowly, not getting it. ‘It denotes a county border, a separation between various councils-‘

‘That’s part of it,’ Alexander interrupts. He gently tugs Magnus over to the bed, and they perch on the edge of it, still mostly focused on the map. ‘I’ve got this friend, Lydia,’ he continues. ‘A few hundred years ago, she decided to visit the Downworld. Not like Isabelle did when she came to you – Lydia fell, voluntarily.’   
Magnus’ eyes widen. ‘That’s… an interesting decision,’ he says carefully.

Alexander chuckles, glancing back at Magnus briefly. ‘She’s never exactly been _risk-averse,’_ he says, before his expression sobers a little once more. ‘She’s why I knew I could use a warlock’s help to get back, because that’s how she did it in the end. But while she was down here, she spent a lot of her time with a man called John Monteverde; a cartographer, a map-maker.’ He shifts, turning to face Magnus more fully and gently squeezing his hand. ‘People were more in touch with magic back then,’ he explains softly. ‘Which meant that they paid more attention to things like ley lines and magical regions, marking them on maps.’  
Magnus nods, realisation creeping in. ‘The wall,’ he murmurs. ‘People always say that the fair folk used to pass through it to wander our world.’

‘Makes sense,’ Alexander says. ‘That colour change up there? Means that there’s a shift of sorts between here and your home, one that separates all magics from earthly-only. So faeries and their natural, bi-planar magic can pass through, with some restrictions. Warlocks can obviously exist either side as well, being both magic and mundane.’   
He pauses – but Magnus can fill in the blanks easily enough. ‘But stars can’t.’

Alexander shakes his head, his gaze staying even and locked with Magnus’. ‘No. I can’t. If I was lucky, I’d get to the wall and just – just run up against the barrier. If I was unlucky…’  
He doesn’t complete that sentence, and Magnus quells a low rush of irrational fear, pulling his hand away in favour of putting his arm around Alexander’s waist, holding him closer. ‘Well, we can’t have that,’ he says, his voice quiet, but final. ‘Guess that means I’ll have to make this a solo visit, and we can figure out our next steps when I come back.’

He smiles – but it falls when Alexander pulls back and Magnus can see the surprise on his face. ‘What?’   
‘You…’ Alexander shakes his head. ‘You want to just – _visit._ And then come back.’   
‘Alexander,’ Magnus says patiently, frowning a little. ‘What did you think? That I was just going to say _well, that’s a shame, goodbye I suppose?’_  
‘Not like that, obviously,’ Alexander says, still sounding a little dazed. ‘But it’s your _home –_ I know what we said before, but – ‘  
‘Alexander,’ Magnus interrupts, and he can feel his smile returning. ‘You’re staying in this _world_ for me. I think I can try out a move to the other side of the wall.’ He lets his smile widen into an amused grin. ‘Besides, our time in the clouds aside, I’ve never done as much travelling as I wanted to. This could be a wonderful opportunity for us both to see what the world has to offer.’

He doesn’t get a verbal response, at first. Instead, Alexander reaches out with both arms and pulls Magnus even closer in their sort-of-awkward-but-honestly-quite-pleasant sideways hug. ‘You’re amazing, you know that?’ he murmurs, tipping his head forward until Magnus feels it lean against his own.   
Magnus hums, closing his eyes. ‘Takes one to know one,’ he gently fires back.

They don’t stay there quite as long as Magnus would like – Alexander pulls away suddenly, his face lighting up. ‘Oh!’ He turns to his pack, and pulls out a pocketknife. ‘If I can’t come with you,’ he explains, ‘then I want you to take this.’

Magnus watches, faintly baffled, as he raises the knife to just behind his ear and snicks off a small lock of hair, before wrapping it in the first small piece of fabric he appears to find when he casts about; namely, some sort of handkerchief-looking square that’s been draped over the bedside table. _Is this some sort of old-fashioned romantic gesture you saw a century ago,_ he’s about to jokingly ask – but Alexander holds the little parcel out, and the seriousness of his expression stills Magnus’ tongue.   
‘Proof,’ he says softly. ‘In case you run into Camille. You started this whole thing for her, and she ought to know the kind of devotion she threw away.’

Magnus reaches out, taking the parcel – and as soon as it’s in his hand, his amusement returns with a vengeance, and he snorts. ‘Alexander, I had no idea stars could be so _petty,’_ he chuckles. ‘Though make no mistake, it’s a good colour on you. I sort of love it.’   
Alexander grins in return, though his eyes remain soft. ‘Well, good,’ he says dryly. ‘Because I sort of love you.’

And Magnus wants to gasp in mock-offence, wants to protest the use of _sort of –_ but Alexander is still glowing softly silver in the morning light, and looking at Magnus like he hung the moon, and Magnus’ heart has been effectively rendered into a puddle by how overwhelmingly _lucky_ he feels that the past twelve hours have even been _real._  
So instead he simply says, ‘I love you too.’

  
***

  
Aside from having to leave Alexander behind _– Get some more sleep,_ Magnus said on his way out, winking as Alexander glared heatlessly from behind his yawn. _Even if you weren’t naturally nocturnal, I think I wore you out last night –_ the journey to Wall is pleasant. The sky is grey but mercifully dry, and the ground just about cold enough that the occasional patch of mud is too solid to splash very much.

By mid-afternoon, Magnus reaches the wall – and he gives a cheerful wave to Simon, immensely enjoying his look of surprise. ‘Shelby.’  
‘Simon,’ Simon corrects, his eyes still wide, but the response automatic – even after all these years, over a decade since his first year of secondary school and Magnus’ last. ‘Magnus, how the hell…’  
Magnus smirks. ‘A warlock never reveals his secrets,’ he claims. ‘But it was a bit of a pain trying to get past you, which I can only imagine is a compliment for a man with your job.’   
‘…Yeah,’ Simon admits, his bafflement giving way to a smile. ‘Gods, it’s good to see you back, though. Clary says that Maia’s been so worried – not to mention your friends at the Ram.’

Magnus nods, stepping through the gap in the wall – and turning back, raising an eyebrow. ‘I take it you’ll let me back through, this time?’  
‘Well, I mean, it would be pretty pointless to try and stop you,’ Simon points out with a shrug. ‘So yeah. Free passage for you, I guess.’   
Magnus shoots him one more amused, grateful smile, and turns away again towards home.

He planned to skirt the town centre at first, wanting to prioritise his friends at the Ram – but after what Simon told him, he figures it’s worth a stop to the Roberts’ store while he’s nearby.   
The bell _ding_ s above the doorway as he enters, and a familiar voice calls out, ‘Be with you in just a moment!’   
Magnus smiles, looking over at the corner where Clary is working on a flat, intricate carving, her design impressive even at this angle, where only a glimpse is properly visible. ‘No rush,’ he says mildly. ‘Just stopping by to say hello.’

Clary’s head snaps up, her bright ponytail whirling as he looks around and spots him. ‘Magnus?’ she asks, the same warm smile on her face as the night they met – and she doesn’t wait for an answer before she’s standing, turning towards the door that leads to the back rooms. ‘Maia!’   
Moments later, Maia rushes out – her clear alarm turning to shock as she catches sight of Magnus. ‘Magnus!’

He’s suddenly on the receiving end of a fierce embrace, and he returns it gently with a chuckle. ‘Well. If I knew I’d be getting such a warm welcome, I might have returned sooner.’   
‘You damn well should have,’ Maia grumbles, but when she steps back she’s smiling widely. ‘Gods, Magnus, where have you _been?_ It’s been _months._ We thought something horrific happened to you.’   
‘I’m sorry to have worried you,’ he says softly. ‘I’ve had… something of an adventure. But I’m happy to explain, if you’d like to hear it?’

  
He spends at least an hour there, the shop unofficially closed for business, his story (told over an _excellent_ cup of local tea made by Clary – gods, he’s missed the comforts of home) giving way to Maia’s updates on the town – and then, haltingly, the Ram, how his friends there looked desperately for any sign of him for weeks, before eventually having to focus on keeping the inn running in his absence.   
‘They’ve done a good job,’ she says, ‘but…’  
She falters, and Clary reaches over, squeezing her hand. ‘But it’s not been the same without you,’ she finishes, and Maia nods. ‘We stop in every now and then, and they’re still keeping an ear to the ground. It’s pretty clear that they miss you.’   
Magnus stares down at his now-empty teacup for a moment. ‘I can assure you, the feeling is mutual,’ he says quietly.

He leaves after a final round of hugs, and with a promise to get in touch once he’s settled on the other side of the wall. ‘I’ll come back and visit,’ he vows.   
‘Or we could visit you,’ Clary says with a smile. ‘Simon still owes me one after what happened the day before graduation.’   
Magnus raises an eyebrow but doesn’t inquire further. Some things, he’s long since learned, are best left between childhood friends.

Maia chuckles, clearly in on the joke, and gives Magnus one last smile. ‘Go on. You show up when it’s dark out and you’ll scare Juliet, she’ll think you’re a ghost.’

Magnus returns her smile, bids the two of them goodbye, and heads for home once more.

  
Walking through Wall is strange, homesickness blossoming into comfort as the sky begins to turn golden. He receives a few smiles from acquaintances, and not nearly as many looks of fear as he did the night of the festival – though whether that’s acceptance, non-recognition, or just a matter of him not noticing them anymore, he can’t be certain.

What he _does_ notice is a pair of familiar figures heading for the residential district – and the butterflies in his stomach are present, but they’re not nearly as ferocious as he thought they’d be as he crosses the street, intercepting them.   
Camille stares at him in shock. ‘Magnus?’   
He gives a gentle smile. ‘Hello, Camille.’

At her side, Aldertree puffs up, stepping forwards. ‘Bane, I thought I made it clear – ‘  
Magnus fixes him with an unimpressed look, flashing his true eyes and smirking when Aldertree stumbles backwards in horror. ‘I told you before, Victor, I mean her no harm. Besides, we both know this isn’t a fight you’d win. So why don’t you stop posturing and let the grown-ups talk, hm?’

Aldertree sputters, but Magnus ignores him – as does Camille, stepping away from him in a gesture that deftly excludes him from the conversation, mild curiosity creeping onto her face. ‘You’ve been gone for a long time,’ she says casually. ‘Care to fill us all in?’   
There’s a hint of suggestion in her tone that’s strikingly familiar – but there’s no warmth, no affection behind it. He’s beginning to wonder if there ever was. ‘I’m sure you’ll pick it up eventually,’ he says, ‘and I’m afraid I’m in something of a rush. Actually, I just wanted to give you this.’ He pulls the small parcel from his coat pocket and proffers it.

The flash of indignance – _gods,_ was she always this entitled? When was the last time he told her _no? –_ is quickly gone behind a smooth smile that’s beautiful, but somehow a little hollow around the eyes. ‘A gift?’ she asks lowly, reaching out and brushing a hand briefly down his lapel before taking the parcel and beginning to undo the folds that hold it closed. ‘You shouldn’t have -’   
She freezes, a tiny crease of a frown appearing above her eyes as she takes in the small pile of powder, something between ash and ground glass. ‘What the hell is this?’

Magnus smiles ruefully. ‘I’m not surprised you don’t know,’ he says evenly. ‘You’ve always had some trouble seeing the most valuable things closest to you.’ He expects the words to come out bitter, but instead, they just sound true. ‘It’s a piece of a star,’ he carries on, before she can interrupt him. ‘I went to get it for you the night of the festival. I thought it might prove my devotion.’   
Her eyes flick back up to him warily, and he shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says placatingly, ‘the devotion’s long gone, I assure you. But I thought I’d give you this anyway. I thought you might benefit from a reminder.’

Her face is blank, and if Magnus hadn’t wasted so much time learning how to read the barest clues from her, hanging on her every word, he likely would have missed the edge of anger underneath the mask. ‘A reminder of _what,_ may I ask?’   
His smile widens. ‘You’re a smart woman, Camille,’ he says with a shrug. ‘You’ll figure it out.’

He steps back and turns a little, reintroducing Aldertree to the conversation. ‘In any case, I’d best be going. I just wanted to wish the two of you luck – and do feel free to stop by the Ram anytime.’ He winks. ‘Best service in the county, and all at a very reasonable rate.’

Magnus doesn’t know if they gather their wits enough to find a decent response to that – because in a matter of moments, he’s already left them far behind.

  
***

  
Stepping into the Ram’s reception feels weirdly normal – that is, until Elias looks up from the front desk, and his warm, welcoming grin and the beginning of a greeting slips away into stunned, wide-eyed silence.

Magnus smiles gently. ‘Elias, would you mind calling a staff meeting at everyone’s earliest convenience? Everyone who’s here, at least – I can catch the others up tomorrow.’   
Elias nods wordlessly, and heads for the stairs – only to dart back and lay a hand on Magnus’ shoulder for a moment. ‘Welcome back, boss,’ he says, his voice a little choked, and then he’s gone again, running up the stairs and calling for the others as subtly as he can in his urgency.

Magnus imagines that he has about two minutes while he tracks them down, so he heads towards the kitchen, looking for Raphael – and finding him earlier than expected, setting tables in the dining hall. It’s a job Magnus always reserved for himself, wanting a definite chance each day to physically ‘check in’ with his establishment, rather than getting caught up in purely managerial issues.

Magnus smiles. ‘Should have known you’d be the one to take over,’ he says quietly, and Raphael freezes. ‘You never did like the way I had the place organised.’   
Raphael looks up at him, his face blank.   
Magnus softens a little. ‘It’s good to see you, Raphael.’

There’s silence for another second.   
Then: ‘You utter _bastard.’_  
And suddenly, too fast to properly track, Raphael is right there, throwing his arms around Magnus and holding on tight. ‘Where the _hell_ have you been?’ he fumes, worry lacing his tone more strongly than Magnus has ever heard before.   
Gingerly, he reaches up to return the embrace, settling into it when Raphael doesn’t pull away. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs. ‘I meant to be gone less than a few hours, I swear. I’m sorry for disappearing on you.’   
At that, Raphael does pull away, his face incredulous and still a little angry. ‘And a few hours turned into four and a half _months?’_  
Magnus nods. ‘I can explain. And as soon as the others get down here, I’m going to.’ As if on cue, that’s the moment Elias leads Meliorn and Juliet into the dining hall.

Magnus gives them all a moment for the shock to wear off, braces himself for another round of storytelling, and then gathers them around one of the tables to begin.

  
By the time he’s finished his story yet again, Lily’s turned up with Luke Garroway in tow, the pair of them reportedly having caught wind of Magnus being spotted in town; and so Magnus is now being stared at by six people, all in varying states of silent disbelief.

The spell is broken by the clock behind them beginning to chime, and Juliet curses softly. ‘Is that the time? I’m way behind on prep for dinner service.’   
Magnus laughs, the sudden normality of the day-to-day chaos of running an inn bizarre but comforting. ‘I think, given the circumstances, your boss will understand,’ he teases, gently elbowing Raphael in the ribs.   
Raphael, for his part, raises an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘True, but I still think we need to get started now. Lily, I know you’re not scheduled to be on shift tonight, but are you available to help Juliet catch up? You’ll receive the standard overtime, of course.’   
‘Yeah, sure,’ Lily says with a smile, planting a kiss on Magnus’ cheek before linking arms with Juliet. The two of them disappear into the kitchen, throwing Magnus one more joyful glance apiece as they go, already discussing what needs doing to prepare for dinner.   
‘I’d better go as well,’ Luke says, standing, and offering a hand to Magnus – which he then uses to pull him up into a brief one-armed hug. ‘I’m due at the Roberts’ for dinner.’   
‘I’ll walk you out,’ Meliorn offers, getting to their feet as well. ‘I have to go finish turndown service.’   
Elias heaves a put-upon sigh. ‘And _I_ apparently have to go sort through the overtime paperwork,’ he says, fixing Raphael with an amused glare – and getting only a smirk in response – before taking his leave, too.

And then it’s just Magnus and Raphael alone in the dining hall once more, leaning against the backs of two well-worn oak chairs.   
‘You know,’ Raphael says mildly, ‘I’m giving myself that ten percent pay raise. You owe me.’   
Magnus gasps, mock-offended. ‘What? For a misadventure that was _entirely_ not my fault, as I explained?’   
Raphael shakes his head. ‘For telling Camille to get lost when I wasn’t around to see it.’

A laugh bursts from Magnus’ lungs, unexpected but welcome. ‘I’m surprised I haven’t received an _I told you so_ yet,’ he points out.   
‘Tomorrow,’ Raphael says dryly. ‘Lucky for you, I’ve still got some _glad you’re back alive_ sentiment kicking around right now. It’s making me too nice.’

And because Magnus still has his own relief ‘kicking around’ too, he doesn’t point out that Raphael is many things, but that _too nice_ has never been one of them.   
Instead, he just smiles, breathing in the familiar smell of his childhood home. ‘I’m glad I’m back too.’

  
***

  
He reaches Strawhold when the morning is shifting from early to bright. The subtle perception-fog of his glamour diverts enough attention that they slip past the innkeeper with no disturbance or curiosity at all, barely a bored glance thrown their way before the man’s focus slides right past them.

The trail grows ever stronger as they approach the correct room, the glow imperceptible to those without power but bright and obvious to him. The door is warded, and he takes a moment to be impressed; but it’s still child’s play to see that his quarry is disappointingly alone, before he tears the wards down and replaces them with a silencing spell.   
Asmodeus twists the door open, and the shadows of his servants rush in.

It puts up a fight, of course – even clearly just roused from slumber, the star is spry, feisty, fury radiating from it as surely as the glow that led them here. But as entertaining as that is, he doesn’t have all day; and so with a small wave of his hand it’s held immobile, clutched upright by the shadow at each of his shoulders.   
Asmodeus smiles in satisfaction, stepping forward until he’s face-to-face with it. He admires his prize for just a moment, notes the way it seethes at having been caught… yes, there’s plenty of life in this one. The scrying spell he kept active all this time was really only meant to ensure Azazel wouldn’t annoy him too often, but it’s paid dividends beyond even _his_ best-laid plans; seeing where the star escaped was exactly the kind of starting point he needed to track it. It would seem, he muses, that even idiots have their uses. Perhaps he ought to send Azazel a gift basket.

In any case. ‘Well, shall we?’ he says evenly. ‘I believe we have some business to attend to.’   
He lifts a hand and brings forth a curl of smoke, a flicker of fear appearing in the star’s eyes as its breathing hitches and is held. But a heart full of stubbornness cannot replace a lungful of air, and it’s less than a minute before it has to inhale again, slumping forward as the spell takes effect.

Asmodeus strolls back down to his carriage, his servants and prize in tow, and heads for home.

  
***

  
In the shadow of a nearby alley, Joyah watches Asmodeus leave, her heart hammering beneath the red-and-gold pendant still draped around her neck. Gods, if only she’d run faster; if only she hadn’t stopped to rest, no matter how her newly-returned lungs and legs were burning, perhaps – 

She takes a deep breath, her jaw set in determination even as fear continues to coil in her gut. Because as sorry as she feels for the star, he’s not the main reason she came, and her instincts are still screaming at her to _find Magnus,_ to find out why Asmodeus didn’t take him too. 

As Asmodeus’ carriage disappears, Joyah Bane emerges from the shadows and strides into the inn, hoping beyond hope that she’ll find her son alive. 


	10. Changing Skies - Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus returns to Strawhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for a somewhat-spoilery content warning.

The journey back to Strawhold didn’t take quite as long as the journey to Wall. After an early breakfast in the Ram’s dining hall, surrounded by his friends in a fond farewell-for-now, Magnus set off just after dawn; Simon let him back through with no issue, as promised, and was even good enough to not mention the slight budding of tears Magnus could feel in his eyes, the parting wishes of his friends echoing in his head and bringing them forth.  
Partway through the forest, Magnus grew impatient, his heart skipping at the thought of seeing Alexander again, at starting their promised new adventure – so instead of walking any further, he thought of a hilltop point down the road and summoned a portal, grinning as he stepped through and barely felt a strain on his magic. A few more of those along his route would likely halve his journey time, he reasoned.

He was right, of course – which is how he’s ended up here, strolling through the front door of the inn before the town clock has even chimed noon. He jogs up the stairs with a smile on his face, the weight of his added provisions and possessions bouncing a little on his back, and –  
Their room is absolute carnage. Bedding strewn, table knocked over; a bloody smudge on the nearest wall.  
Magnus’ heart freezes even as his hands begin to burn with power.

The movement that catches his eye from behind the modesty screen doesn’t stand a chance – he’s on it in a second, crossing the room in a fury and pinning it face-first against the wall, magic and muscle working together to hold the short, lean figure in place. ‘You have three seconds to tell me what happened here,’ he snarls, ‘and I’d better like your answers.’  
‘Magnus?’ the figure gasps – and that’s – that _voice_ is –

His magic falters, which is just as well because he has nowhere near the presence of mind to release his captive deliberately right now. The woman steps away from the wall, turning slowly towards him – and she looks into his unglamoured eyes and smiles, her hands reaching up to cradle his face gently. _‘Magnus.’_  
He chokes on a sob, tears springing up out of nowhere as if to match hers. _‘Mama,’_ he breathes.

She looks almost the same as he remembers; her face is a little more lined with worry, and her dark hair long and wild instead of neat and sleek – but the warmth and gentleness and sheer _presence_ of her is just the same, and when she pulls him down into their first hug in almost twenty years he almost collapses against her, knees weak with relief and confusion and _love._ ‘How – You – ‘ He can’t find the words. How is anyone supposed to find the words for something like this?

But she knows what he means, and guides them to the foot of the nearest bed, taking a long breath as they both sit. ‘I am so sorry,’ she says, voice wavering but firm. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never meant to leave you for so long, I began looking for you the moment I heard rumours of your escape, but…’  
She hesitates, smiling a little when he squeezes her hand gently. ‘Azazel found me first,’ she says plainly, and he doesn’t recognise the name but he recognises the shiver that blinks through his mother’s bearing. ‘He may not be as powerful as your father, but I was still no match for him. He’s kept me prisoner all this time, transfigured for most of it. I thought I would never escape.’  
Magnus swallows hard, nodding in understanding. ‘How did you?’

Her expression softens. ‘Luck,’ she says – and she pulls at her necklace, an all-too-familiar red-and-gold pendant being lifted forth, and Magnus’ breath catches. ‘After you escaped,’ she murmurs, ‘this sent things in my favour. Azazel’s fit of rage at realising you were gone ripped clean through the chain that bound me, that bound the spell – and then it ricocheted into him. It might have killed him for all I know, I didn’t stop to check. I just ran.’  
She looks down at the pendant, her fingers running gently over the embroidery. ‘But I’ve been around magic long enough to know that this is what made it possible,’ she says. ‘Your friend, who left it for me – I owe him my freedom.’

The mention of Alexander brings Magnus’ fear, simmering in the back of his mind even through his shock, roaring to the forefront again. ‘Mama,’ he begins, and his voice is small but he can’t help it – ‘what happened here? Where _is_ he?’ He sounds as desperate as he feels.  
His mother looks back up at him with unbridled sorrow in her eyes. ‘Asmodeus took him,’ she says, and if she notices the flare of power at Magnus’ hands she doesn’t flinch. ‘I got here just in time to see it. He was spelled, but alive, as far as I could tell.’

 _For now,_ a voice whispers under Magnus’ thoughts – and he gets to his feet in a sudden motion, hands flying up and clenching in his hair as he screws his eyes shut, taking deep breaths until they don’t feel so ragged. ‘All right,’ he says – faintly, and that’s no good, so he draws himself up tall and tries again. ‘All right,’ he says, his voice stronger now. ‘Then I need to go and get him back.’  
He half-expects her to protest – they’ve only just reunited, after all, and now he’s declaring that he’s heading after the man who tore them apart in the first place. But instead, she just looks at him, steady and sure. ‘He must mean a lot to you,’ she says.  
Magnus thinks that he would have won an argument if it came to it, but this quiet understanding nearly undoes him all over again, only a well-practiced, tight rein on his thoughts stopping them from spiralling. ‘I love him,’ he says, and his voice shakes but doesn’t fade out. ‘I’m in love with him, Mama. I have to get him back.’

She nods. ‘All right,’ she says evenly. ‘How?’

In answer, Magnus goes to the bedside table, breathing a sigh of relief when the top drawer of it proves untouched. He lifts out the stump of the portalling candle _(Babylon candle,_ his thoughts echo, and he forces down the lump in his throat) and shows it to her.  
She clearly recognises it, but - ‘That can only get us so far,’ she cautions. ‘Your father’s wards will keep us out – maybe even by a matter of miles, given that it’s magical transport. Given the terrain, we’ll need to hurry if we’re to get there by midnight.’

 _Midnight._ It makes a sick kind of sense. That’s when stars shine the brightest, after all, when Alexander’s heart –  
Magnus banishes those thoughts, instead focusing on another part of what she said. ‘We?’  
His mother nods, her expression unchanging, as though it was obvious that she would come with him. ‘I know him,’ she points out. ‘I know how he thinks, I know what his traps look like. I’m not claiming I’ll be much use in a fight, but you’ll go faster with me along.’  
She stands, taking his hand in both of her own. ‘Besides,’ she says softly, ‘what kind of mother would I be if, after all this time, I let you face yet another hardship alone?’

 _It wasn’t your fault,_ Magnus wants to say, but he thinks that she knows that and if she doesn’t they don’t have time right now, so he just nods.

His magic sparks with no more than a thought.  
The last of the Babylon candle lights, and they’re whisked away.

  
***

  
Magnus knows from personal experience how difficult it is to traverse the wilderness surrounding Asmodeus’ fortress. He’s never quite forgotten how the jagged rocks felt to climb, how the slippery slate foiled him at nearly every turn as he made his escape all those years ago.  
He’s uncertain whether it takes longer this time, or whether that’s his impatient desperation talking – screaming in fear and frustration every time they reach a point that threatens a rockslide, the few times his mother points out possible signs of a trap – but either way, they leave around noon, and even with the help of the candle they don’t reach Asmodeus’ grounds until twelve minutes before midnight.

Magnus shivers as they cross the threshold, his magic thrumming with heightened power even as above them, the stars all go out, Asmodeus’ glamour blanketing the sky. _If we fail,_ some traitorous part of his mind whispers, _at least Alexander’s family won’t have to watch him die.  
_Magnus ignores it and sprints across the courtyard, stopping outside the main door and looking up at the imposing structure. ‘Mama,’ he says softly, and hears her step closer to his side. ‘Where’s the nearest place that you can hide?’  
‘Over there,’ she says, and Magnus looks down at her again, follows her point to where the harsh scrub bushes have grown matted around a fallen line of brickwork. ‘Maybe not under ordinary circumstances, but with the charm, it should do the trick.’  
Magnus nods, and turns to her, pulling her quickly into an embrace. ‘I’m getting him out,’ he vows. ‘I need you to know that he’s my priority. I won’t leave without him, but I might send _him_ out without _me.’  
_He pulls back, because as hard as it is he needs to look her in the eyes for this part. ‘If that happens,’ he says, ‘promise me. Promise me the two of you will run. That you’ll keep each other safe.’

She stares at him, and there are tears in her eyes that he hates himself for putting there, but her grasp is strong when she reaches out and takes his face in her hands. ‘I promise I’ll get him to safety,’ she says, ‘but I won’t promise to leave you behind. If you don’t come out, I’ll go and make as many alliances as I need to, and then I’ll be back to storm the damn place.’  
Her grit, her candour – it’s hers, but its Ragnor’s and Raphael’s and Maia’s, too; and despite everything, Magnus smiles to see it. ‘All right,’ he murmurs. ‘I love you.’  
‘I love you too, sweetheart.’ She returns his smile, watery and small, but warm and certain, too. ‘I always have, and I always will.’  
She tugs him down to press a kiss on his forehead; and then she pulls away, runs back across the courtyard and ducks behind the thorns and fallen stone.

Magnus counts to five, takes a deep breath, and throws open the front doors.

  
***

  
The leather straps are cutting into Alexander’s skin, even though he’s long stopped struggling in favour of glaring and desperately, desperately trying to _think_ of a way out of this, which is difficult because right now he’s more afraid than he’s ever felt before.  
Asmodeus turns away from sharpening his blade and looks back at him, a satisfied smile on his face. He waves a hand and Alexander’s shirt disappears, leaving him exposed and even more vulnerable, and despite himself he squirms against the skin-warmed stone he’s bound to, instinct demanding what consciousness knows is impossible.  
‘Almost time, now,’ Asmodeus says. The obsidian knife glints in the light of the torches around them, and Alexander’s left shoulder twitches up as if he can curl inwards and stop the weapon finding a home in his flesh – but despite his body reacting, he manages to keep a tight rein on his voice. If this is it, he’ll at least go out with all the defiance he can muster.

And then the front doors burst open on the floor below them, and Alexander finds out that he can in fact be more afraid than he already was.  
‘I believe you have something of mine,’ Magnus says. ‘And I want him back.’

Alexander shakes his head in horror. _‘No,’_ he calls, and his voice is trembling, but he needs to say this because screw silence, not when _Magnus_ is – ‘Magnus, _no,_ get out of here–!‘  
A cold, syrupy feeling blinks into the air, and his voice is stolen from him. He can still _feel_ it, feel that he’s calling out his warning, _shouting_ for Magnus to run – but it can’t escape his throat, let alone carry down the grand staircase.  
He stares at Magnus, willing him to understand. _Go. Don’t risk yourself like this. Not for me._

Magnus meets his eyes briefly. He looks calm, still, almost bored – but there’s a tightness in his expression that betrays otherwise, that matches the magic Alexander can almost see sparking from every inch of his skin.

Behind Alexander, Asmodeus hums. ‘Magnus, is it?’ he muses. ‘How fitting. I might almost have chosen it for you myself, had I been afforded my rightful chance to.’ He gives a sigh. ‘I don’t suppose you’re here to take me up on my original offer, are you?’  
‘Not so much,’ Magnus says evenly, and the magic at his hands lights from intermittent sparks into blazing orange flames. ‘It’s more that I’m here to make an offer of my own: let him go, and I won’t kill you.’  
‘Oh, is that so?’ Asmodeus’ laughter makes Alexander’s skin crawl. ‘Well, then,’ he says mildly. ‘Let’s see what you can do.’

Asmodeus snaps his fingers, and chaos erupts below.

Shadows spring forth from nowhere, the same kind that attacked Alexander at the inn; glass and rock begins to fall from the ceiling; three honest-to-gods suits of armour creak to life and advance -  
And Magnus is in the middle of it all. And Alexander can only watch as he throws up a shield and wades into the fray – the falling glass splinters away before reaching him, and a bolt of magic skewers two of the shadows only for them to be replaced by three more. Magnus spins, a sword of light forming in his hand as he parries the attempted blow of one of the suits of armour.  
Through it all, he moves forward. He heads for the staircase, risking glances upwards now and then, and Alexander prays that he’s finding strength in the sight of his goal instead of distraction.

And then Magnus lunges for one of the shadows, and groans as a falling rock clips his right shoulder, sending him to the ground.

 _No,_ Alexander screams, the word still prisoner in his lungs – and he pulls at the bindings until he bleeds because he can’t even _see_ him in the melee, doesn’t know if he –

Magnus springs up from the floor, back into view, the sword in his left hand now and his right clutched protectively against his chest, light emanating from it and visibly keeping his shield intact. The shadows rush up against the shield and bounce off of it; but it’s weakening, flickering, and Magnus staggers on his feet as one of the suits of armour –

Everything stops. The shadows slink away, the suits of armour crumple, Magnus is _gone,_ Alexander’s heart stutters in his chest –  
There’s a cry of pain behind him, and his focus snaps away – to where Asmodeus is standing over Magnus, casually waving a hand with a sigh, a sigil-edged circle appearing in glowing gold around Magnus’ sprawled form.

‘Not bad,’ Asmodeus admits, and he sounds _disappointed._ ‘The copy being able to fight physically was an impressive touch. That being said, my son, a simple misdirection was hardly the most sophisticated plan.’

He turns back towards the altar, but Alexander doesn’t look up at him. He keeps his gaze on Magnus, his sight blurring with tears at the terror and pain in his love’s eyes, and he can’t find a smile but he hides his own fear as best he can. _I love you,_ he says without voice. _It’s okay -  
_‘Wait!’ Magnus blurts out, and his glamour has long fallen, his eyes glinting gold as he gets to his feet. ‘Please, just – just don’t do this. Let him go, and – ‘  
He pauses, his eyes flicking back to Alexander, before returning to his father with a hint of steel. ‘And I’ll stay and serve as your heir,’ he says resolutely, and Alexander’s stomach drops because _no, he can’t –_

But Asmodeus is turning away, the blade in his hand lowering. ‘Interesting,’ he murmurs. ‘Release this particular star, and regain my sole heir. Hm.’ His head tilts a little to one side. ‘And you mean this? You’re not attempting another petty trick?’  
‘You know I’m not,’ Magnus snaps. ‘Your _spell_ wouldn’t allow it.’ He kicks at the circle, his foot audibly scuffing against the inside.  
‘Oh, very good,’ Asmodeus says, a pleased note in his voice, now. ‘And how long would you stay, my son? To save his life?’  
‘If you swore to let him go, to never harm him again…’ Magnus’ jaw clenches. ‘Then I’ll stay as long as you want, and remain loyal to you for all that time.’

 _No!_ Alexander shouts, but Magnus isn’t looking at him.  
And Asmodeus says, ‘I accept.’

He turns towards the altar, and banishes the bindings holding Alexander down – even resummons his shirt. ‘Go,’ he says.  
But Alexander ignores him, because the sigil-circle has just disappeared too – he runs forward, taking Magnus in his arms. ‘Magnus,’ he says helplessly, the cold syrup gone from his throat. ‘Magnus, you _can’t-‘_  
‘It’s done,’ Magnus says, and he pulls back a little, takes Alexander’s face in his hands and gives a heart-shattering smile. ‘It’s all right, darling. Go, get out of here, the south route is safest - get back to your family, all right? I love you.’  
_I love you too,_ and the magic binding Alexander’s voice may be gone but those words get stuck because of their sheer _magnitude,_ he loves him, he _loves_ him –

He _loves_ him. More than he ever knew was possible.  
And suddenly, the answer is crystal clear.

‘Magnus,’ he begins.  
‘Alexander, please, just – ‘  
_‘Magnus,’_ he insists – and then he drops his voice to a whisper. ‘Close your eyes.’

He grabs Magnus by the lapels, and pulls him in for a hard, desperate kiss.

  
And the world bursts into silver light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Asmodeus is after Alexander's heart, so he straps him down to a stone altar to remove it. He doesn't get that far, of course - the only injury Alec ends up with is where he hurts himself struggling against the bindings.


	11. Changing Skies - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath. The end of one adventure, and the beginning of many more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: mentions of recovering from trauma. Also, the tags have changed to reflect a spoilery development for near the end, so check those if you want to know ahead of time. Otherwise, please enjoy. <3

Magnus opens his eyes.

It takes a few blinks to clear them properly, the sheet impression of brightness overlaying his vision – but when he manages it, the sight of Alexander before him confirms the comforting warmth of him standing so close. ‘Alexander,’ he breathes; his gaze darts around, confirms that they’re alone, Asmodeus gone from the landing and no dangers heading towards them – and then he’s looking back at Alexander, who’s whole, and alive, and _smiling,_ even though there are still tears in his eyes.  
Who’s still glowing, bright and beautiful but no longer blinding.

Alexander laughs a little disbelievingly, his hands skirting down Magnus’ chest to rest at his waist. ‘It _worked,’_ he says, and he sounds fairly dazed. ‘It worked. Thank fuck.’  
Magnus snorts a laugh in sheer surprise. ‘Nice to know that you were so sure,’ he teases. ‘Is that why you didn’t pull that trick earlier?’  
Alexander chuckles. ‘Yeah, sure. It’s not that I needed you for it to work. It’s just that I was still debating it, and I figured I had a few minutes left. No rush, you know?’

Magnus’ smile widens – but the phrasing catches him, too. ‘You needed me for it to work?’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘What happened to _what do stars do?’_  
His tone stays light-hearted, amused – but rather than responding in kind, Alexander blinks in clear surprise, his expression softening into something fond and genuine. ‘Oh,’ he murmurs. ‘Sorry, I just – I thought you’d figured it out, what with everything…’  
He trails off. ‘Figured _what_ out?’ Magnus prompts.  
Alexander glances away thoughtfully. _‘What do stars do?’_ he echoes. ‘That’s kind of the wrong question. A better one – for right now, at least – would be _how,_ or _why.’_  
‘…All right.’ Magnus nods, hoping that the understanding to match it is on its way. ‘I mean, other than the whole _planetary alignment_ thing you were talking about – which, I won’t lie, sounded kind of like bullshit,’ he admits with a smirk, ‘you said it was emotional, right?’ His brow furrows. ‘But I thought that meant it happened when you were happy, not…’ _Scared out of your mind and heartbroken,_ he thinks, but he doesn’t say that part aloud. He can’t, not yet.  
Alexander shakes his head. ‘That’s only a part of it,’ he explains. ‘It’s not happiness, not really.’ He looks back at Magnus, then, smiling once more. ‘It’s love.’

Magnus gapes at him for a moment, his throat working. ‘Oh,’ he says intelligently.

Alexander’s smile twists in amusement. _‘Oh,’_ he teases, laughing when Magnus pokes him indignantly in the side. ‘Yeah. It’s not happiness, it’s love. Any kind of love that’s strong enough – friends, family, romance… and any _part_ of it that’s strong enough.’ He pulls Magnus a little closer. ‘Even at its most painful,’ he murmurs. ‘Even at its end.’  
Magnus loops his arms around his neck and pulls him down into a brief kiss – relieved, and soft, and like breathing deep after diving underwater for too long. ‘Who said anything about the end?’ he says quietly. ‘I believe you promised me _decades,_ Alexander, and I intend to collect.’  
Alexander chuckles, pressing another kiss to Magnus’ cheek. ‘And I’ll honour that. But that’s why I needed you here to pull that off. I already knew that you love me, but…’ He lets out a slow breath. ‘I think, at that moment, I realised what it _meant?_ Because I realised just how _much_ you’d sacrifice for me; and that I understood it, because I’d do exactly the same.’ He shrugs, and it’s a little incongruous for the moment but it’s so perfectly _Alexander_ that Magnus’ heart melts a little further. ‘I’ve never been loved quite like that,’ he says simply. ‘I’ve never loved quite like this.’

And Magnus knows exactly what he means, feels the echo of that in his own heart – but he’ll tell Alexander that later, find the right words to spin into the air and press into his lover’s skin.  
For now, he just kisses him again, and hopes that gets the message across.

  
***

  
Outside the fortress, his mother is waiting for them, springing from her hiding place as soon as she sees them emerge. ‘Thank the gods.’ There’s fierce relief in her tone as she runs up to them, turning first to Magnus, her expression softening. ‘My brave boy,’ she says, cupping his face in her hands; Magnus leans into the touch, a part of his mind behind the fatigue still marvelling that she’s even _real,_ that two decades after he thought her lost for good, he has his mother back.  
She smiles at him, her eyes a little glassy with tears but sparkling with joy, too. ‘I knew you could do it,’ she says.

Then she turns to Alexander – and lets out a chuckle. ‘Well, hello.’ She steps towards him, reaching out gently and taking both of his hands. ‘We meet again. I’m so glad you’re safe. I still need to thank you for looking out for my son – twice, assuming that the light I saw a few moments ago was what I thought.’  
Alexander, for his part, continues to look a little incredulous, his gaze darting between the woman in front of him, the pendant around her neck, and over her head at Magnus. ‘You’re…’  
Joyah laughs again. ‘There’ll be plenty time for explanations on the way home,’ she promises, and then she turns back to Magnus. ‘Is there anything else you need to do here before we leave, sweetheart? It’s yours now, after all.’

But before Magnus can answer, Alexander’s expression shifts into full-blown alarm. ‘Wait,’ he says, pulling away from Magnus’ mother and locking eyes with Magnus. ‘The deal you made with him, that’s not – ‘  
‘It’s null and void, don’t worry,’ Magnus quickly explains, running a reassuring hand down Alexander’s arm. ‘I said I’d serve as long as he wanted. Generally speaking – ‘ he winks – ‘one has to be alive to want things.’  
Alexander nods, the alarm slipping away, replaced with soft amusement. ‘Should’ve known you had a trick up your sleeve,’ he murmurs.  
‘Of course,’ Magnus says with a grin. ‘I knew he wouldn’t accept anything less than the rest of his lifetime, but I was hardly going to guarantee him the rest of _mine_ if I could help it.’ He gives an exaggerated shiver, and when it has the desired effect of provoking a fond eye roll from Alexander, something settles inside Magnus.

He looks back up at the fortress, feeling his expression twist in mild disgust. ‘Nonetheless,’ he says airily, sending a brief pulse of magic through the grounds, ‘I’ll admit that I vastly prefer your solution, darling.’ The magic reveals no life inside the fortress besides a few rats and several bugs, and Magnus nods in satisfaction. ‘Let’s go,’ he murmurs. ‘Let it fall to ruin. The earth will take the land back, and be better for it. There’s nothing here for us now – oh,’ he realises, ‘except - ‘  
He crooks a finger, and a small suitcase appears open at his feet, his mother’s old belongings nestled in amongst a healthy portion of the gold coins from his father’s treasure hoard.  
He looks up at Alexander and his mother with a smile, flicking the suitcase closed and picking it up. ‘Okay,’ he says. _‘Now_ we can go.’

  
Above them, the last vestige of Asmodeus’ power flickers out before they’ve even cleared the courtyard. The three of them walk away from the fortress under the light of a thousand stars, and they don’t look back.

  
***

  
The way back is quicker, the three of them able to retrace the path Magnus and his mother took – but they still only make it halfway to the treeline before Magnus stumbles for the fourth time. Alexander’s arm comes around him once more, steadying him; but this time, he doesn’t let go. ‘All right,’ he says firmly, ‘I think we need to stop for the night. It’s still hours until dawn, and should rest before one of us breaks a leg.’  
‘My boyfriend the optimist,’ Magnus grumbles – but he sighs in resignation, too, because unfortunately Alexander is right. ‘Fine – I’ll make you a deal, then,’ he says, as brightly as he can manage.  
Alexander raises an eyebrow. ‘Another one?’  
Magnus smirks. ‘Another one,’ he allows. ‘We stop now, per your suggestion, and I don’t complain about it – _but,’_ he adds, lifting a finger in caution, ‘you let me make us a place to stay, without worrying about my magic levels.’

Alexander frowns a little. ‘As long as it takes less magic than a portal,’ he says – which Magnus was expecting, after how steadfastly he argued against Magnus portalling them some of the way home.  
‘Agreed.’ Magnus turns to face the flattest piece of land in their immediate vicinity, and thinks for a moment. There’s safety in numbers out here, so – one tent, he decides, waving a hand and making it appear, set on a waxed sheet and large enough for all three of them. A final flourish puts a simple ward over their little camp, a basic dome of a spell to keep out ill intent.  
He sways a little – and suddenly has a worried hand at each elbow, his mother and Alexander both rushing forward to steady him again. ‘All right,’ he huffs. ‘Perhaps you were right about the portal after all.’

  
Ten minutes later, they’re safely inside the tent. Magnus glances over at his mother in her single bedroll – she’s already fast asleep, no doubt exhausted after the last few days.  
‘I’m glad you have her back,’ Alexander says softly.  
Magnus turns back to face him, pulling him a little closer under their covers. ‘So am I,’ he agrees. ‘And that I have you back, too.’ He reaches up, brushes a rogue curl away from Alexander’s forehead. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’  
Alexander hums. ‘Honestly, I don’t know,’ he mumbles. His eyes are looking heavy, now, each blink taking longer and longer. ‘Today was… a lot. Obviously. But…’ He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I’m with you, and you’ve warded us. Hard to be too worried right now.’  
Magnus smiles. ‘Good,’ he whispers, leaning in and pressing a small, gentle kiss to Alexander’s lips. ‘You’re right, we’re safe. And we should get some sleep.’  
Alexander mumbles an inaudible response, and seconds later his breathing evens out into soft snoring as he drifts off.  
Magnus isn’t far behind.

  
What feels like a blink later, however, Magnus bolts upright. ‘Someone’s here,’ he says lowly, magic lighting his hands, a shade brighter than the dawn that’s somehow blossomed into existence and is filtering through the tent. Either side of him, he’s aware of his mother and Alexander stirring. ‘Stay here,’ he begins to say, ‘I’ll-‘  
_‘Alec?!’_  
The voice is unfamiliar, and Magnus’ heart skips a beat – but Alexander is already launching to his feet, ducking out of the tent with a breathless laugh. ‘Yeah, I’m here!’ he calls.

Magnus follows just behind him; and is met with the sight of Alexander staggering under the weight of the two figures currently clinging to him in an insistent hug.  
‘Thank the gods,’ one of them is saying, the voice a familiar alto. ‘We spent all night looking for a way down, we couldn’t find one, and then midnight passed and we thought we were too late until we saw – ‘  
_Isabelle,_ Magnus finally recognises. He lets out a tendril of magic, not enough to be impolite and noticeable, but enough to confirm – there’s not _quite_ enough physicality to the two of them, not as much as one would expect. Which means that they’re not _here,_ per se; they’re apparitions, the kind of form Isabelle took on when she guided Magnus through the forest all those months ago.

The other figure isn’t quite as verbose as Isabelle, their face hidden in Alexander’s shoulder, only their blond hair visible and their voice barely audible. ‘You’re okay,’ they keep saying, even when Isabelle’s voice eventually halts. ‘You’re okay, gods, you’re okay…’  
‘Yeah, I’m okay, Jace,’ Alexander murmurs. ‘It’s okay now.’

Magnus takes a step back, meaning to return to the tent and let the siblings have their moment of reunion in privacy – but his movement must catch Isabelle’s attention, because her gaze snaps up to him and she smiles. ‘It’s you,’ she says delightedly, stepping away from Alexander and coming over to clasp both of his hands. ‘Thank you, thank you so much.’  
Magnus nods. ‘Of course,’ he says, and he smiles a little. ‘I told you I’d look after him, didn’t I?’

Alexander and Jace wander over to join them, Magnus glancing curiously at the latter. There’s not nearly as much family resemblance as there is between Alexander and Isabelle, but there’s something very like Alexander in his bearing nonetheless. ‘I heard you,’ is the first thing he says to Magnus. ‘A bit, at least. On the ship that day. You’re the one who’s gonna send him home, right?’  
Magnus blinks. _Oh._ ‘Well, I…’  
Thankfully, Alexander swoops in. ‘Jace,’ he says gently. ‘I’m not coming home just yet.’ Those words recapture both of his siblings’ full attention, and Magnus sees him smile a little despite their apparent shock. ‘I’ll be back someday, obviously, but I want to stay for a while first. Explore the Downworld, see it up close for once.’ He looks back at Magnus, his smile widening a little and turning fond. ‘Spend some time with Magnus,’ he adds softly.

That puts the attention back on Magnus, of course – but before he has more than a moment to worry about their reactions, Isabelle is smiling. ‘Of course,’ she says, addressing Alexander but still looking at Magnus with what he quietly hopes is approval. ‘You know I’ve wanted a go at being evening star anyway. If you want to stay, you should stay.’  
Jace doesn’t smile. Instead, he fixes Magnus with an intense gaze. ‘And you’re gonna keep watching out for him, right?’ It would sound like a threat, if it weren’t so clearly a plea.  
‘Of course,’ Magnus says, the answer easy, automatic. ‘For as long as he’ll have me around.’

Jace does smile a little, then – only to lose it a moment later, when he and Isabelle both flicker. He urgently looks back at Alexander. ‘Alec-‘  
‘Go,’ Alexander says softly. ‘It’s all right. I know where to find you.’  
Jace nods, and Isabelle steps forward, her hand reaching up to Alexander’s shoulder –

And then the pair of them wink out of existence.

Alexander lets out a long breath, blinking hard. Magnus wordlessly puts an arm around his waist, and he leans into it. ‘I know where to find them,’ he says again. ‘And they’ll probably come and visit again, right?’  
Magnus smiles. ‘Well, given that I’ve now seen Isabelle twice in less than a year,’ he reminds Alexander, ‘it seems to me that they’re planning on making a habit of it.’  
A breath of laughter slips into Alexander’s tone. ‘Good point.’

He stands up a little straighter, the sadness and uncertainty gone from his posture. ‘All right,’ he says, glancing over Magnus’ head and smiling – Magnus looks around to see his mother in the doorway of the tent, watching them with a soft smile of her own. ‘What’s next?’  
‘Next,’ Magnus declares, ‘is breakfast.’ And he waves a hand, letting his newly-replenished magic conjure a low table, three cushions, and three plates of bacon and tomatoes and eggs.

His mother laughs joyously, clambering out of the tent. ‘Well, I must admit,’ she says, her voice still a little raspy with sleep, ‘that between seeing a further _two_ stars in person, and now not having to go forage for breakfast, this morning is shaping up to be even better than I’d hoped.’  
Magnus hums in agreement, taking his seat. ‘Well, the interesting developments don’t stop here, either,’ he says casually. ‘After all, _Alec_ is just about to explain why he’s kept me on such formal terms with him all this time.’  
The teasing hits its mark, Alexander groaning beside him. ‘Gods, don’t call me that,’ he mutters. ‘Bad enough that those two still do, I’ve been trying to get them to stop for the last hundred years – ‘

He continues his tale of nicknaming woe, huffing in amused indignance whenever Magnus or his mother interject with a wry comment. The three of them fill their stomachs with good food and their hearts with good conversation, the sunlight rising around them all the while.

  
***  
  


To Alexander’s great relief, Magnus appears to be almost fully rejuvenated by the hours of sleep they managed to claim – in magic, at least. In spirit, he still seems a little jumpy, and occasionally a little dazed, but Alexander can understand that. He’s still feeling a little shaken himself, in the back of his mind; they’ve had a hell of a few days.

But Magnus’ magic is raring to go, the hum of it rippling and shifting over Magnus’ entire being; so when Magnus once again brings up the idea of small portal jumps to shorten their journey, Alexander doesn’t raise the concerns of yesterday, but instead agrees with him. Joyah agrees too _(You know you best,_ she tells Magnus) – and so they begin to take a portal every hour of walking or so, jumping ahead to whatever nearby point Magnus can picture well enough to focus on, either from the maps he’s studied over his lifetime or the paths he’s actually walked in the past week.  
The result is that by dusk, they reach the outskirts of what looks like a thriving trader’s town, one which is showing no signs of settling despite the encroaching night. ‘And before us is Cliffsink,’ Magnus announces, sweeping an arm wide. ‘Shall we?’

They wander the streets for half an hour or so, staying close together through the dense crowds as they cut through the marketplace. ‘Is it always like this?’ Alexander asks, raising his voice so Magnus can hear him, even though they’re close enough that they’re still holding hands.  
Magnus laughs. ‘If you believe the stories,’ he confirms. ‘Gods, it’s like Wall on a festival night.’  
He sounds rather happy about that – which makes Alexander feel a little guilty about what he says next. ‘It’s kind of a lot, though.’ The light is helpful, it disguises the residual glow he still can’t quite extinguish on his skin; but the noise and the crowd that go along with that light are more than a little disconcerting.

Magnus doesn’t look disappointed, thankfully. Instead, he shoots Alexander an understanding smile and squeezes his hand in reassurance. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘It takes some getting used to.’ He turns back to where Joyah is leading the way, a few paces in front of them. ‘Mama,’ he calls, ‘is it much further?’  
‘Not far now,’ Joyah shouts back over her shoulder.  
Magnus looks back at him. ‘Not far now,’ he echoes, presumably in case Alexander didn’t hear her. ‘Don’t worry, just stick with me, all right? We’re nearly there.’

True to Joyah’s word, it’s less than five minutes before they emerge from the bright bustle of the market streets – and they find themselves stood out in front of a truly massive inn, its dark timber beams criss-crossing smooth white walls, framing large, glowing windows and a smart green door.  
Joyah turns to them and smiles. ‘By far the nicest of the three inns in Cliffsink, as requested,’ she confirms. ‘A little indulgent, perhaps, but I’d agree that we’ve earned it.’  
Magnus – the one who made such a request in the first place – grins. ‘Well then,’ he says, letting go of Alexander’s hand for a moment to tap the suitcase now worn as a satchel at his hip, before linking elbows with Alexander and settling his other arm loosely at his mother’s back. ‘I think it’s about time Asmodeus compensated us for our recent troubles, don’t you agree?’

  
They don’t spring for the fanciest rooms available, a little wary of being too conspicuous. But a small fraction of Magnus’ makeshift inheritance pays for their first night in two of the third- or fourth-nicest rooms – plus a deposit to put them as the priority guests there for at least a week, in case they want to make this their base for a while.

The three of them head up to the second floor, and Alexander focuses on each of his footsteps; the day’s activity is finally catching up with him as fatigue, and he’d rather not trip. He didn’t go through all of this to meet his end falling down some stairs, after all.  
The two rooms they’ve booked are directly opposite each other on the same corridor, and Joyah presses a kiss to Magnus’ cheek before raising a hand to briefly cup Alexander’s chin. ‘Goodnight, you two,’ she says. ‘Sleep well.’  
‘You too,’ Magnus says. He waits for her to close the door, and then snaps his fingers. Alexander smiles as a ward shimmers into place. ‘Just in case,’ Magnus explains.  
Alexander shakes his head. ‘You won’t hear any argument from me,’ he says softly.

They turn around enter their own room, Magnus flicking on the light – and Alexander’s eyes widen. ‘Wow,’ he breathes. ‘This is… nice.’  
Beside him, Magnus laughs. ‘Yes, it is _nice,’_ he teases. ‘I might even go so far as to say _very_ nice.’  
Alexander would try and find a retort, but he’s still busy scanning the room, taking it all in – the warm abundance of electric lights; the sheen of soft-looking covers on the huge bed; the hanging baskets by the window, lightly perfuming the air with their fresh sweetness.  
He turns back to Magnus, and kisses the fond smile he finds there just because he can. Magnus hums into the kiss, his eyes still closed when Alexander pulls back, and a small, satisfied smile on his face. ‘So,’ he says, one eye cracking open. ‘Good idea, hm?’  
Alexander nods, trying and failing to control his smile. ‘Good idea,’ he confirms. ‘I might even go so far as to say _very_ good.’

Magnus’ eyes open and immediately narrow, his glamour falling – and then he’s tackling Alexander onto their luxurious bed, and Alexander gives in to laughter.

  
When he wakes, it’s still dark but for his own glow. ‘Hmm,’ he sighs, stretching, reaching out – and when he doesn’t find the warmth he’s expecting, he turns his head. ‘Magnus?’

Magnus _is_ there, thankfully, just a little out of reach, and Alexander smiles – but it falls when Magnus abruptly turns away. ‘Magnus?’ he asks again, more gently. ‘Is everything okay?’  
‘I-‘ His voice cuts off, and Alexander’s alarmed to hear him gasp in a breath. ‘I’m fine, it’s okay. Go back to sleep, darling.’

But there’s little chance of that, not with Magnus sounding so pained, so instead Alexander reaches out once more, taking hold of his love’s hand and tugging in askance. ‘Hey,’ he says softly. ‘Come here?’

For another moment, Magnus is still – but then he lets out a deep breath, turning over; and neither the low light nor the way his face is half-buried in his pillow is enough to hide the tearstains on his cheeks, and Alexander’s heart twists to see them. ‘I’m fine,’ Magnus says again. ‘Honestly – ‘  
‘Magnus,’ Alexander interrupts, as quietly and neutrally as he can. ‘You don’t have to explain, just – just come here?’  
He doesn’t hide how much he wants that, lets it bleed honestly into his voice; and that may well be the final straw, because Magnus’ expression crumples and he shifts in towards Alexander, into his waiting arms, hiding his face in his chest and beginning to cry in earnest.

Alexander just holds him close, runs his hand soothingly up and down his back. ‘It’s okay,’ he murmurs, leaning close, making low _shush_ ing noises. ‘We’re okay. We’re safe. I’m here, I’ve got you.’ He keeps it up, a comforting ramble, the words blurring together – but unfaltering, steady, like Magnus’ warmth against his.  
Eventually, Magnus speaks. ‘I think it just – just hit me all at once,’ he says, his voice croaky but no longer as thick. ‘Now that we’re back, properly, not out in the open and running, it just…’ He shakes his head. ‘Gods, I’m sorry.’  
Alexander kisses the top of his head. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’  
‘I do,’ Magnus insists. ‘Here I am, fussing, staring at you like _I’m_ worried your light’s gonna go out, when you’re the one he tried to – to hurt,’ he says, his voice faltering, ‘you were the one who…’

He trails off, and Alexander makes to pull back – but Magnus’ arms tighten against the motion and he lets out a small whine, so instead Alexander settles for pressing another kiss to the soft spikes of his love’s hair. ‘He hurt you too, Magnus,’ he says gently. ‘You came back to a trashed room, got to where I was and had to fight through those attacks, and then traded away your freedom to a man you escaped years ago.’ Listing it out like that brings a small lump to his own throat. _Gods,_ he realises, they’ve been through a lot, haven’t they?  
Magnus shudders, pulling back just enough to reach up and cup Alec’s face in his hands. ‘I thought I was going to lose you,’ he confesses, his voice breaking a little over the words but his eyes locked with Alexander’s. ‘When I found the room, when he won the fight…’ He swallows, his throat bobbing visibly. ‘All of this, everything that happened, I –‘ He shakes his head helplessly. ‘I thought I was going to lose you,’ he says again.  
Alexander nods. ‘I know,’ he says, his own eyes burning a little because he _does_ know – he knows the fear he felt when Azazel attacked, when Magnus stormed the fortress, when Asmodeus accepted the trade. ‘I know. It’s okay. We’re here, we made it.’

They stay like that, wrapped up in each other’s arms, murmuring quiet promises and _I love you_ s and kissing, touching, holding close, soft and simple and sweet.

  
At some point, they must have drifted off – because when Alexander wakes once more, this time to see sunlight glowing bright around the edge of the thick curtains, Magnus is slumbering silently in his arms, deep, easy breaths ghosting over Alexander’s skin.  
Eventually, he wakes too, slow and gentle. He squints his eyes open; and when he turns his bleary, golden gaze upwards to Alexander’s, a small smile appears on his lips.

Alexander returns it, and knows that his promises last night were well-founded.  
They’re going to be okay.

  
***

  
They end up spending two weeks in Cliffsink, enjoying the food and drink and sights the town has to offer. They wander the marketplace, the public gardens and orchard, the library – and most notably, the Mages’ Guild, where a few warlocks and several cunning folk study their craft and ply their trade for the good of the town and surrounding region.  
It’s a little overwhelming, being so surrounded by magic after nearly a whole lifetime of trying to hide it; but there’s a kind of peace Magnus finds there, too, spending time with people who are so _like him_ in a way few others have ever been. More surprisingly, though, his mother takes to the guild like a duck to water – the mages are endlessly curious about what she picked up from her time around Asmodeus and Azazel, whose powers were almost as great as their notoriety. She meets with both warlock mages and cunning mages for hours on end, discussing ingredients, and processes, and how to use this sheer wealth of knowledge for _good_ instead of the selfishness it’s wrought in the past.

Which is why, when she tells Magnus and Alexander that she intends to stay on there, Magnus is probably only half as surprised as he might have been.  
‘They’ve offered me a room,’ she says. ‘A residency as one of their cunning mages.’  
There’s an excitement to her that Magnus doesn’t think he’s ever seen before, and it brings a smile to his face. ‘If that’s what you want, then I’m happy for you,’ he answers softly.  
She nods thoughtfully. ‘I know it may seem odd,’ she explains. ‘Wanting to be so fully around magic, after all this time, but…’ She glances down, her hands tracing over the pendant she still wears, after Magnus refused to take it back. ‘A few others there – naming no names – are like me,’ she says quietly. ‘They’ve had run-ins with people like your father, people like Azazel.’ She looks back up across the dinner table, her gaze steady. ‘No-one comes out of that unscathed. But _using_ the knowledge, taking what was _their_ power and using it for what _we_ think is important…’ She smiles. ‘This is a place I can help people, but I think it’s also a place I can heal.’

That evening, Magnus and Alexander return to the inn alone and lie on top of the bedcovers; staring at the ceiling, holding hands, thinking.  
Alexander’s the first one to break the silence. ‘Do you want to stay here for a while longer?’ he asks, and his voice is careful, considered.

Magnus sighs. ‘No,’ he says honestly. ‘I want to come back soon, of course, spend more time with Mama – but she’ll be busy for the next month or two at least, settling into the guild and starting to process her own misadventures.’  
Alexander hums. ‘Yeah. We’ve had less than a year of it, while she’s had…’ He trails off. He doesn’t need to say it aloud. ‘So what do you want to do?’  
‘I think I should be asking you that, darling,’ Magnus points out, smiling, rolling over a little to look at his lover. ‘I intend to take my tour guide responsibilities _very_ seriously.’  
His voice softens, as does his gaze, no doubt. ‘So, tell me what you want to see – name anything in this world – and we’ll go.’

Alexander gazes back at him, and a faint smile tugs at his lips. ‘Snow,’ he says softly. ‘There’s a lot I want to see, but… snow. I want to head north, see what a real frozen winter is like. Why Downworld children run around laughing and playing the moment it touches down, why it’s so different to rain…’ He shrugs. ‘I want to understand it. Experience it first-hand.’

And Magnus nods, his smile widening. ‘All right, Alexander,’ he agrees. ‘Snow it is. Tomorrow, we head north.’

  
***

  
They head north, as promised – and then south again, east, west, further and further and past any land Magnus has known, even on his father’s maps. They cross oceans and climb mountains, see the tallest forests known on earth and every type of weather the sky has to offer; they carve an invisible path across the world, collecting memories and stories and the occasional trinket, hand-in-hand through it all.  
And it’s better than Magnus ever dreamed of. He feels like he’s discovered the heart of an explorer beating in his breast – he takes in every new experience with wonder and awe and joy, and knows an incredible peace whenever he sees those same expressions on the face of the man he loves.

His inheritance – lifted first as they made their escape, and later summoned piecemeal from the untouched vault of the abandoned fortress – is enough to grant them safe passage and basic comfort wherever they go. But they find work on occasion, too, Magnus plying his trade as a warlock-for-hire and Alexander finding a fondness for using his hands in creation, woodwork and glasswork and smithing. They may not need the money, but it’s comforting, to feel a part of the world; to look at something that wasn’t there before or a problem that’s been fixed, and think to oneself, _I made that happen._

It’s not always easy, especially at first. There are days where the thought of being left alone – no matter how safe the place – gives rise to panic in Alexander’s eyes. There are nights where Magnus wakes from a nightmare and frantically looks over, convinced that no silver life-light will greet him in the dark.  
But those are the days when Magnus stays close to Alexander’s side; he keeps a hand at his back, or an arm around his waist, or presses them shoulder-to-shoulder. Those are the nights that Alexander wakes, too; he pulls Magnus into his arms, surrounds him with his light and heartbeat and breath, kisses him or makes love to him or just talks to him – whatever will best ground them both.  
Those days and nights get further apart, whilst the two of them only grow closer.

  
It’s halfway through Magnus’ eighth annual visit to Wall that the comments on how he _hasn’t changed a bit_ start to actually sink in.  
He spends a large part of that evening scrutinising himself in the mirror, guiding his magic under his skin in search of anything even his keen eyes cannot see, any sign of his face changing or weathering. Any sign at all that the years have taken their rightful toll.

When he finds none, he’s oddly unsurprised. After all, he’s known for decades what happens when you possess the heart of a star; and he has Alexander’s as surely as Alexander has his.

  
The march of time is not halted completely, of course – but it is stretched, slowed. Enough for Magnus to visit his mother often, to see her grow old and frail but no less happy for it; enough for him to witness her live out the rest of her days in a place she is beloved.  
Enough for him to know her as he once did, but now with both of them free.

Enough for Alexander to waltz with him across the deck of Cat and Dot’s ship many, many times. For them to watch fondly as the captains head into retirement, leaving Madzie standing proud at the helm.

Enough for Magnus to see the Green Ram flourish under Raphael; under Clary; under his and Alexander’s first daughter; under their second grandchild.

  
They walk the world until Magnus is lean and a little stooped. Until his hair shines brightly grey in Alexander’s light, until they laugh and bicker about the third time in a row he has to ask his husband to repeat himself.

And one day, tens of thousands of sunsets after Alexander made his promise, Magnus turns to him with a smile. ‘Thank you,’ he says softly. ‘Now, I believe it’s time I kept my end of our bargain?’

  
On their kitchen table, there are fourteen letters, each addressed to a grandchild or great-grandchild they’ve already said goodbye to in person.

In a drawer in the cellar, there is a tall black candle – bought decades ago and lovingly wrapped in parchment and silk, before being warded tightly against theft or fire and hidden away. Waiting until it was needed.  
Waiting for _this_ moment.

Magnus holds the candle between his hands, Alexander’s firm grasp coming up to steady it too.  
‘Ready?’ Magnus murmurs.  
And Alexander nods. ‘Ready.’

  
In a low, wide part of the sky, just a few blinks from the Penhallow cluster, there is joy and reunion and the bright silver light of love.

Magnus and Alexander sweep their way through the heavens, living out their forever.  
Dancing through a realm of nothing but stars.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> And there we go!   
> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you've enjoyed yourself as much as I have <3   
> Do please let me know what you thought! ^^ 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: [silver-lily-louise.tumblr.com](https://silver-lily-louise.tumblr.com) <3


End file.
